


What Can You Do Me?

by Frequently_Humming



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternative Universe- Guys and Dolls, Bets & Wagers, Biblical References, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Engagement, Gambling, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 21:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11814267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frequently_Humming/pseuds/Frequently_Humming
Summary: "Iolo, you've gone and got yourself trapped," Poe smiled sympathetically.  "You sound like a husband and you haven't even signed the papers.""Well," Iolo shrugged, an idea slowly forming.  "At least I have someone to holler at me.  While here you stand, heading off to Havana all alone."A Guys and Dolls AU





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to this little experiment! :D  
> This came out of nowhere, but just writing the first chapter had me smiling so I thought I'd share it and see if anyone's interested in a Guys and Dolls AU with these characters. If you're unfamiliar with the musical, you'll still be able to follow the story so long as you remember the setting is New York City around 1950, with many allowances given for theatrical effect ;)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Finn heaved a sigh and finished buttoning his red jacket.  He knew it wasn’t a very charitable thought but some days—days like today—he wished something would _happen_.  He smoothed his hands down the jacket front, erasing imaginary creases, before he turned away from the dingy mirror and took the three steps necessary to take him from his small closet of a bedroom to the rickety kitchen table where he’d left his glass of milk and the newspaper, opened to the weather.  Clear skies and upper seventies, no chance of rain.  He exhaled heavily; how boring before the day even started.

 

“Morning,” his roommate said softly as he entered the apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft click.  “Did you have a nice night?”

 

“I had the same night I always do,” Finn grumbled back but cracked a small smile at his roommate’s frown.  “How was yours?”

 

Shrugging, Bastian slipped his navy suit jacket off, noting the fraying around the cuffs and wondering how much longer he could wear it.  “Not too bad.  Only got four propositions.  My looks must be slipping.  Pretty soon Iolo won’t recognize his fiancé,” Bastian joked, unbuckling his sleeve garters and tossing them and his jacket through his open bedroom door.

 

“That’s not true,” Finn scowled, gathering his friend into a hug as Bastian moved towards the table.  “He’s lucky to have you.  He’s always been lucky to have you.”

 

Bastian snorted against Finn’s neck and patted him on the back.  “Well.  It’s nice someone thinks so.”

 

“Are you working all night?  If you get off early we could go out.  Anywhere you want,” Finn offered.  Bastian pulled back with a soft smile.

 

“I think a nightclub would catch fire if you tried to enter it.  I won’t have the corruption of your soul on my tab,” Bastian teased, taking a seat in the chair that wobbled.  Finn sighed again and Bastian reached over for Finn’s half-full glass of milk.  “Besides, it’s my anniversary.  Fourteen years today.”

 

“Bastian,” Finn started, folding the newspaper carefully, “do you ever think--,”

 

“That fourteen years is too long for an engagement?”  Finn nodded and Bastian took a large gulp of milk.  “It’s crossed my mind.  Do you ever think preaching to drunks and gamblers in Time Square might not be best idea?”

 

That was all Finn had been thinking about for the past couple of weeks.  “If I can help just one person…”

 

“Happy hunting, then,” Bastian said, winking before knocking back the rest of the milk.  “I’m going to bed.  Did you make me a list?  I’ll head to the grocer before work.”

 

Finn bit his lip and took out the neatly folded page from his pocket.  “You sure?  Because I don’t mind--,”

 

“I’m going out anyway.  I need to pick up Iolo’s present.”

 

“Well, alright,” Finn allowed, handing over his list and Bastian took it, making a show of sliding it into his pants pocket.  “See you in the morning.  I hope you have a good anniversary.”

 

“That makes two of us,” Bastian answered cheerfully over his shoulder as he moseyed into his room, falling face first onto the mattress with a groan, the springs squeaking in response. 

 

Finn shook his head fondly and made his way out, locking the door behind him and double-checking the knob to be sure.  He shuffled down the stairs, humming quietly to himself the song he had heard on the radio the night before.  It hadn’t been spiritual or wholesome but as long as he didn’t condone the lyrics, there couldn’t be any harm in humming the tune.  Deciding that was sufficient justification, he exited the apartment building into the bright sunlight of an early summer morning.  At the foot of the stoop he saw Rey and Jess, their heads close together and their backs to him.  Finn softly approached them.

 

“—Paul Revere.  There’s a guy who says if the weather’s clear, this horse can do,” Rey informed Jess, pointing at the racetrack report in her hand.

 

Jess scoffed and shook her head.  “I’m picking Valentine.  The morning line has him at five to nine.”

 

“Or you can quit betting on horses,” Finn interjected and the two women jumped in surprise, “and devote your time to real fulfillment.”

 

“Why, good morning, Mr. Finn,” Rey greeted, slipping her paper into the inside pocket of her jacket as she turned to smile up at the man.  “How are you on the beautiful morning?”

 

“I have no complaints,” Finn replied regally, noting the exasperated look Rey and Jess exchanged.  “Did you follow Bastian home again?”

 

The two women exchanged another loaded look before Jess answered, “We were asked to assure Mr. Bastian made it home safe from molestation.”

 

“Sure,” Finn drawled, crossing his arms.  “And why can’t Iolo assure that himself?”

 

“Iolo had obligations--,”

 

“He promised that he gave up the stupid floating crap game,” Finn interrupted, eyes narrowing as Rey’ and Jess’s faces went carefully neutral.  “And for his sake, he had better keep that promise.  He would also be wise to make himself available tonight at the Hot Box because he wouldn’t want to miss his fourteenth anniversary.”

 

“ _Fourteenth_ \--,” Jess started incredulously before Rey stamped down on her foot.

 

“Iolo has the date marked in his calendar,” Rey replied loudly, “and would not miss it for the world.”

 

“That’s good to hear,” Finn said suspiciously.  “And I’m sure he has a present for his fiancé as well.”

 

“What would an anniversary be without a little token,” Jess simpered, answering but not answering, and Finn rolled his eyes.

 

“I’m glad Iolo has everything taken care of,” Finn muttered, stepping off the final step.  “Have a good day.  Don’t trifle away all your money.”

 

“And a very good day to you, Mr. Finn,” Rey called after the man brightly before frowning and putting her hands on her hips.  “Well, that is a fine mess.”

 

“Iolo can’t miss tonight,” Jess hissed.  “After last night’s fiasco--,”

 

“Maybe he’s already found a new spot,” Rey offered as she and Jess fell into step after Finn, out of earshot but still visible.  “After all, as long as he arranges the location, the game runs itself.”

 

“But Lieutenant Hux is breathing down everyone’s neck,” Jess pressed, watching Finn turn the corner and their pace increased to keep the man in sight.  “All the regulars are scared.”

 

“Iolo will pull through,” Rey nodded, trying to convince both of them.  “He always does.  And with all the high rollers in town, he cannot miss the opportunity.  I heard Poe Dameron is back from Vegas.”

 

“Poe’s back,” Jess gaped, pausing beside a newsstand and watching Finn unlock and enter the Save a Soul Mission storefront.  “Iolo needs to get the game going.”

 

“And he will,” Rey said definitively.  “You head up east and reassure our friends.”

 

“And where will you be going,” Jess asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Someone needs to inform Iolo he has a date he cannot forget,” Rey rolled her eyes, holding out her hand.  Jess took it and they shook formally before parting.

 

“Finn, why are you lurking at the window,” Slip asked, his arms full of prayer books.

 

“Just preparing for the day,” Finn responded mindless, watching the two women take off in opposite directions.  He had half a mind to follow Rey, figuring if anyone knew where Iolo was lying low it was her.  But he had a job to do.  A job he _enjoyed_ , even if it didn’t feel like it some days.  “Here, let me help you,” he said, taking some of the red leather-bound tomes from his friend.  


	2. The Oldest Established

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ready to get the ball rolling? :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Having spent the last few hours checking the usual haunts, Rey poked her head into the barber shop, casting a critical eye around before sidling in.  She started moving towards the back, nodding at the familiar faces on her way to the occupied chair at the end of the row.

 

“Iolo, we have a problem,” Rey stated to the suited man reclined with a warm towel wrapped around his face.

 

“Lieutenant Hux of the New York Police Department has put on the heat,” Iolo mumbled through the fabric.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And none of the regulars are willing to take the chance.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And all the well-heeled shooters are in town and looking to lose their stacks in quiet and peace.”

 

“Yes,” Rey agreed, stepping back as the barber removed the towel and cranked Iolo’s seat back to its upright position.  “It is also your fourteenth anniversary.”

 

“Oh no,” Iolo frowned, folding his hands in his lap.  “I have a problem.”

 

“Arana,” rasped a man who smoked too much too soon from across the aisle, shaving cream still on half his chin, “I crossed the river, I am loaded, and I am itching to play.  Where’s the spot?”

 

“The spot,” Iolo sighed, spinning his chair to inspect his shave in the long mirror.  “The spot is Radio City Music Hall.”

 

“How’d you fix the ushers,” the man asked surprised and Iolo looked at the man’s reflection in the mirror, concerned for his mental health.

 

“We will let you know, Rusty,” Rey interjected slickly.  “Keep an ear to the ground and a red carnation in your buttonhole.”

 

“I will do so,” Rusty nodded seriously, “but I would recommend not to keep me waiting.” 

 

Iolo watched Rusty’s barber crank the seat back and employ his straight razor before picking up his blue fedora, smoothing the brim between his hands.  “What a time.  Every high roller on the east coast is in town and hot to trot and an honest criminal can’t get a buck what with the police on the prowl.”

 

“Iolo, your cut from the next game could set you up for life,” Rey breathed, leaning close to his ear.  “On my way here I heard the big fish from Chicago is arriving tomorrow--,”

 

“Not,” Iolo started, raising his eyebrows tellingly.

 

“Yes,” Rey replied, eyebrows raised as well.  “Himself.  You have to find a location or it’ll be the end of the oldest established permanent floating crap game in New York City.”

 

“I’ve been running this game since I was a juvenile delinquent,” Iolo muttered, running his palm across his smooth cheek.  “But the way things are now—why, even the back of the police station is out!”

 

“The gym at Public School Eighty-Four,” Rey suggested.

 

“Got a new lock on the door,” Iolo shook his head, setting his hat on the back of his head and running his thumb over his eyebrow.  “I even went to my last resort.”

 

“Lando’s Garage,” Rey gaped.  “And he wouldn’t take the chance?”

 

“He’d be willing—for a thousand bucks, upfront and in cash,” Iolo replied, getting to his feet and retrieving his suit jacket from the coat rack.  “A thousand dollars I do not have.  I don’t even have enough to buy Bastian a present.”

 

“That is not good,” Rey censored, following Iolo out onto the street, the two of them turning towards Maz’s Diner on instinct.  “Will he take your marker?”

 

“Won’t even look at my marker.  _My marker_ —it’s as good as gold!  I’ve never backed out on my marker.  It’s not just an IOU.  But Lando won’t take it.  One thousand, upfront and in cash.”

 

“Iolo, you will never guess who is sitting at your table, eating strudel,” Jess said excitedly, catching up and walking sideways to keep pace with the other two and gesturing towards the storefront they were approaching.

 

“Lieutenant Hux with engraved handcuffs,” Iolo answered flatly.

 

“Better,” Jess hinted, wiggling her eyebrows.

 

“Lieutenant Hux and Bastian with engraved handcuffs.”

 

“Poe Dameron came here specially to meet with you,” Jess supplied, awe evident in her tone, and Iolo stopped, eyes darting into the window of the diner and catching sight of familiar waxed black curls.  “He hit it big in Vegas; I heard it straight from Henry the Horse’s mouth who saw Dameron bet five C’s that one raindrop would beat another down the window last night at O’Doyle’s Bar.”

 

“And,” Iolo prompted.

 

“He got lucky,” Jess shrugged.  “So, where’s it gonna be?  Rey and I will spread the word and--,”

 

“The cops have us black-balled,” Rey interjected with a grimace.  “Our only chance wants a thousand upfront to consider it.”

 

“You say Dameron struck it big,” Iolo mused, his eyes narrowing in thought.  “And he’s feeling a little reckless.”  Rey and Jess shot each other satisfied smirks.  “I should greet my old pal,” Iolo continued, almost dazed with possibilities as he strolled into the revolving door, bypassing the stack of menus as he headed for his usual table.  He could only see the back of Poe, but the new gray suit was evident even from a distance.  Yes, Dameron had done very well indeed.

 

“There you are!  Where have you been?”  Iolo froze, mid-step, and Bastian jumped to his feet from where he had been sitting across from Poe and came quickly to Iolo’s side.  “I was looking for you, but your friend said--,”

 

“Yes, what did my friend say,” Iolo asked Poe as he wrapped an arm mindlessly around Bastian’s waist.

 

Poe smirked.  “I said you must have been held up in traffic.”

 

“Traffic this time of day,” Iolo told Bastian before placing a quick kiss on his fiancé’s forehead.

 

“Poe says he’s in town for--,” Iolo’s eyes bugged out and Poe’s smirk widened, “—a doctor’s appointment,” Bastian finished brightly, missing the exchange as he ducked his face and a sneeze overtook him.

 

“Bless you,” Iolo said automatically.  “It sounds to me like Poe isn’t the only one who should have a doctor’s appointment,” he hinted, lifting his hand and cradling Bastian’s cheek.  “You should be resting.  That cold does not appear to be getting any better.”

 

“It comes and goes,” Bastian shrugged, leaning his face into Iolo’s palm.  “But I wanted to say--,”

 

“Happy anniversary,” Iolo blurted out, causing Poe to snicker into his hand and Bastian to smile softly.

 

“You remembered.”

 

“How could I forget?  But we can discuss this later, after you finished working,” Iolo said firmly, looking over his shoulder.  “Rey, Jess, escort Bastian back to his home.”

 

“That’s not necessary,” Bastian managed before he sneezed again into his wrist.

 

“Bless you.  And I think it is,” Iolo countered quickly, picking up the two shopping bags that were beside the empty chair at the table for two and handing them to Jess with a nod.  “Be sure to take a cab,” he told her with a significant look.

 

“Arana, any news,” asked Scottie from Scranton as he passed by on his way out, jacket over his arm.

 

“Not yet, Scottie,” Iolo chimed as he turned Bastian by the shoulders towards a smiling Rey.

 

“What’s that about,” Bastian asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

 

“Yeah, Arana,” Poe drawled, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms, “what was that all about?”

 

“Uh—his wife is having a baby,” Iolo fibbed, catching sight of a pregnant woman seated at the back of the diner.

 

“Why’s he asking you,” Bastian frowned, digging in his heels as Rey linked her arm through his and started to tug.

 

“He’s nervous—it’s his first wife,” Iolo improvised over Bastian’s sneeze.  “Bless you.  Now go home and take some Bromo-fizz,” he ordered gently, kissing his fiancé’s cheek.  “I will see you tonight.”

 

“Are you trying to get rid of me,” Bastian called as Rey pulled him towards the door, Jess following behind.

 

“Never in a million years,” Iolo assured with a grin, waving until Bastian was through the revolving door and he collapsed into the empty seat.

 

“I never believed the cock and bull story about being blinded by love,” Poe mentioned, smiling with all his teeth.  “But I stand corrected.”

 

“He believes the best of me,” Iolo shot back blandly.

 

“He’s wrong.”

 

“Of course he’s wrong,” Iolo rolled his eyes.  “Do you also stand outside Macy’s in December and tell kids Santa doesn’t exist?”

 

“I would be doing them a favor,” Poe smirked and Iolo scoffed, lifting his hands off the table as a danish on a plate was placed in front of him by a passing waiter.  “So where’s the spot?”

 

“No can do tonight,” Iolo answered casually.  “Tomorrow looks promising.”

 

“That’s too bad,” Poe commented lightly, stroking the side of his coffee cup with his thumb, encircled by a gold class ring.  Iolo wondered who he’d won that off of before Poe’s words sunk in.

 

“You have other plans?”

 

“I’m off to Havana tomorrow for dinner,” Poe answered, rubbing it in.

 

“Who’s the guy,” Iolo asked idly, mind working on his immediate problem.

 

“No guy,” Poe shrugged, tapping his finger on the edge of the table.  “You should consider it.”

 

“What,” Iolo blinked, momentarily distracted.  “I’m not unloading Bastian.  I love him.”

 

“Any guy can be pleasant enough company,” Poe said, scanning his eyes over Iolo and shaking his head, “but he can’t beat the thrill of two aces back to back.”

 

Iolo struggled to keep the glare off his face.  “You don’t know Bastian.”

 

“I know all guys are the same,” Poe replied flippantly.  “They’re easy enough to find.  You’ve gone and got yourself trapped.  Fourteen years, isn’t that right?”

 

“He was an early bloomer.”

 

“You sound like a husband and you haven’t even sighed the papers,” Poe dismissed, checking his watch.

 

“A guy needs someone to holler at him—someone who tries to make his better.  Yes,” Iolo continued quickly as Poe opened his mouth, “even if he’s wrong.  I’ve got that while here you sit, heading off to Havana all alone.”

 

“A choice,” Poe responded, voice a bit firmer and an idea started to form in the back of Iolo’s mind.

 

“Because you could take any guy you wanted.  They’re all the same,” Iolo poked, catching sight of familiar burgundy jackets across the street through the window, over Poe’s shoulder.  Bastian would kill him but…

 

“Exactly.”

 

“A wager then,” Iolo smiled, all friendliness.  “One thousand says you cannot take a guy I pick to Havana tomorrow night.”

 

“I thought you’d given up gambling,” Poe teased before holding out his hand.  “One thousand it is.”

 

Iolo took it and they shook once.  “I choose him,” Iolo said promptly, pointing out the window.  Poe twisted around and then slowly turned back to stare at Iolo incredulously.  “Sergeant Finn of the Save-a-Soul Mission in New York City,” Iolo declared smugly.

 

“A church boy,” Poe gaped.

 

“The most morally straight and narrow of church boys,” Iolo agreed pleasantly, picking up his danish and taking a bite.

 

“You fixed the bet,” Poe accused.

 

“Never even crossed my mind,” Iolo countered indignantly, sitting up straight.  “I have it on good authority Sergeant Finn would not spit in my direction if we passed on the street.”  Poe swallowed and glanced back through the window, where Finn and his merry evangelizers had set up at the corner.  “Of course, you could always forfeit,” Iolo offered, keeping his voice steady as his heart pounded against his ribcage.

 

Poe’s eye twitched at the suggestion, focusing on the earnest expression, neat suit, polished shoes of the appointed mark.  “I don’t forfeit,” he ground out, getting to his feet and Iolo leisurely followed.  “Tomorrow night I will be having a candlelit dinner in Havana with your church boy.”

 

“Tomorrow night I will have a thousand bucks,” Iolo replied, watching Poe shoot him a glare as he picked up his hat and prowled out of the diner.  Iolo sat back down, picked up his pastry before dropping it on the plate, appetite gone.  “Bastian will never know,” Iolo mumbled to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Poe and Iolo are kind of scoundrels...but that's how the dice land some times (yes, that's a not so subtle hint at the crap game in the works).
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left a comment or kudos on the first chapter! I know this is a bit different from my other stories so I'm extremely humbled! You are fantastic readers!
> 
> Next Up: Poe Meets Finn and a Fourteenth Anniversary


	3. I'll Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!

“Slip, do you ever think ‘what is the point of all this,’” Finn asked exasperated, dropping into one of the many empty chairs in the mission while the others filed through, heading for the soup kitchen in the back.

 

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Slip said kindly, squeezing his friend’s shoulder tightly.  “All things considered, today was much better.  You almost got halfway through your speech before they started wondering away.”

 

Finn clicked his tongue, looking around the empty mission, thinking they needed to dust.  “They only stop because they think I’m pretty.”

 

“There are worst ways to lead someone to the light,” Slip shrugged and Finn squinted up at him, brow furrowed.

 

“Excuse me, do you take sinners here?”

 

Finn’s head snapped around and barely kept his jaw from dropping at the painfully modest-looking man standing just inside the door, a gray fedora clasped between his hands.  Finn was busy contemplating the stranger’s dark eyes when Slip’s voice registered.

 

“—get some coffee.  Please, take a seat, Brother Poe.”

 

“Uh,” Finn started, blinking as Slip disappeared through the back door before Finn could tell him they had been out of coffee for a week.

 

“Sergeant,” Poe greeted with an easy smile.  Finn frowned, wondering if he had missed the introductions.

 

“Well,” Finn cleared his throat, “what is the trouble?”

 

“My heart is heavy with sin,” Poe answered, almost too quickly as he dropped his hat on the desk at the front of the room and looking around.

 

“Oh yes,” Finn asked, wondering why he felt suspicious.

 

“Yes.  See, I’ve spent my life gambling and betting.”  Poe paused, picking up the Passage of the Day card and glancing over at Finn.  “And I have begun to realize what terrible things bets can lead to.”

 

“Well, I only wish other gamblers in this city felt the same way,” Finn replied, almost to himself, getting to his feet.  “I have a pamphlet here that should give you some counsel.”

 

“That would be nice,” Poe smiled, “but I think speaking with you will provide all the counsel I need.”

 

“Two pamphlets,” Finn countered, picking up two on the evils of gambling from the stack.

 

“This is wrong.”

 

“What,” Finn demanded, turning around on his heel.

 

“This,” Poe repeated, pointing at the card in his hand, “is wrong.  It’s Isaiah, not Proverbs.”

 

“It’s Proverbs,” Finn said flatly, not bothering to look at it.

 

“Sorry,” Poe chuckled, lips twitching up into a small, almost charming smile that had Finn glancing away.  “ ‘No peace unto the wicked’ is Isaiah, chapter 57, verse 22.”  Finn shook his head and marched over to the large Bible on the podium beside Poe.  He opened to Isaiah with practiced eased, flicking to the chapter and then closing the book quickly.  “Isaiah,” Poe asked kindly.

 

“Isaiah,” Finn confirmed with one nod.  “You know your scripture.”

 

“There are two things that have been in every hotel room from here to San Francisco,” Poe said, taking a fountain pen out of his top pocket and unscrewing the cap.  “A Bible and me,” he finished as he crossed out ‘Proverbs’ and wrote ‘Isaiah’ in its place.  “I must have read it cover to cover ten times by now.”

 

“ _You_ have read the Bible ten times,” Finn asked with unconcealed skepticism, looking the strange man over again.

 

“Sure.  In my line of business, it pays to know details,” Poe answered idly.  “You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve won off Methuselah.”

 

“You sound pretty proud of that for a reforming gambler,” Finn pointed out, his eyes narrowing.

 

“I’m a work in progress,” Poe responded flippantly, mindlessly fanning himself with the card.  “Do you only accept fully reformed, saintly people in here?”

 

“No, we--,”

 

“Because that would explain why it’s so empty,” Poe continued, pursing his lips.  “This mission is barely treading water, isn’t it?”

 

“I’m sure it’s none of your business,” Finn snapped, snatching the piece of cardboard out of Poe’s hands and striding around to the other side of the desk.

 

“You know, if you can get me, any other sinner will be a breeze,” Poe mentioned, inspecting his nails.  “In fact, I bet I could fill this place with sinners.”

 

“Something tells me that’s not the first time you’ve uttered that sentence,” Finn said drily and surprised a bright laugh out of the other man.

 

“Well,” Poe grinned, putting his hands on his hips, “who would have thought it?  The church mouse has some fight in him.”

 

“I think you’re lying,” Finn glared.

 

“No, I really believe I can fill this place with sinners,” Poe mused, looking over the empty chairs in neat rows of four.  “Twelve, huh?  Not very ambitious but it’s a start.”

 

“What are you talking about,” Finn crossed his arms.

 

“When’s your next—what do you call it—assembly?”

 

“We have a prayer meeting every Thursday at midnight,” Finn stated, almost on instinct, and Poe nodded thoughtfully.

 

“I will give you my marker that there will be twelve genuine sinners here midnight this Thursday,” Poe said, taking the passage card out of Finn’s lax grip and flipping it over.

 

“Marker?”

 

“It’s—well—it’s all a person has in this world,” Poe answered, quickly scrawling across the back of the card.  “It’s an IOU on my honor that I must pay in full.  Ask any rat in this town and he’ll tell you Poe Dameron’s marker is as good as done.”

 

Finn blinked and looked down at the card pushed back across the desk towards him.  ‘Twelve sinners, midnight Thursday X Poe Dameron.’  Finn cocked his eyebrow as he raised his face to look at the beaming man across from him.  “And what exactly do you get out of this, Mr. Dameron?”

 

“The satisfaction of a good deed done,” Poe replied, placing his hand over his heart with a kind smile.  Finn stared him down and Poe sighed, scratching his neck.  “You are a very strange guy.”

 

“I suppose principled guys are not your usual company.”

 

“Oh they are.  ‘Principled’ isn’t hard to find,” Poe shrugged, “particularly if you’re not too picky about what those principles are.  No, you,” Poe continued, approaching Finn slowly, “are different.”  Finn rolled his eyes, moving to step away but his arm was caught.  “Let me take you to dinner.”

 

“Why,” Finn asked.  “You won’t keep your word unless I have dinner with you?”

 

Poe’s lips twitched up, liking how fast Finn caught on.  “Think about it,” he pressed, squeezing Finn’s arm gently.  “I promise to take you somewhere you’ve never been.”

 

“That’s not a hard promise to keep,” Finn muttered under his breath and Poe’s eyes lit up at the peeved tone.

 

“Well, how about this?  I’ll come back tomorrow, noon.  Give you some time to think it over.  What’s one dinner, right?”

 

“You can come by if you want,” Finn said, pulling away but not far.  “But I can tell you I won’t be going to dinner with you.”

 

“And why’s that,” Poe asked, adjusting his tie.

 

“You’re not my type of guy.”

 

“You have your guy all planned out, don’t you?  Down to the brand of cigarettes he smokes, I’d wager,” Poe teased lightly.

 

“He doesn’t smoke.  Or wager,” Finn shot back, not catching on until he saw Poe smirk.

 

“Me—I want to be surprised,” Poe said easily, as if he hadn’t heard, looking down at his shoes.  “I’m going to leave it to chance.  I’ll know when I see him, and that will be that.”

 

“Really,” Finn asked before he realized he was asking and Poe glanced up through his lashes with a small smile.

 

“Really.  Leave it to chance and chemistry.”

 

“Chemistry?”

 

“Yeah, chemistry.”  Poe’s smiled widened quickly before he turned away, leaving Finn gaping.  “Keep the marker.  Think about it.”

 

Finn watched Poe pick up his hat and make for the door.  “Make it twelve-thirty,” he blurted out and Poe paused.  “I want to be here to tell you ‘no’ in person,” Finn finished and Poe winked over his shoulder.

 

“Twelve-thirty rejection it is.”

 

** _Later that Night_ **

 

“Listen, Lando, the money is good as mine,” Iolo grumbled into the receiver.  “I bet Poe Dameron he could not take a certain guy with him to Havana… Not this guy— _not this guy_ … But I won’t have the money til tomorrow!... Well, can I at least say it’ll be at your place?”

 

“Not during the show,” hissed one of Bastian’s coworkers, elbowing Iolo in the back as she passed.  Iolo glared after her before glancing over his shoulder; sure enough, through a crack in the curtains he could see Bastian standing in front of the microphone.

 

“Look, I’ve got to go…Yes, Lando…Yes, Lando…Drop dead, Lando…Yes, Lando,” Iolo finished, hanging up the phone backstage and strolling, hands in his pockets, to the side of the stage, where he had a clear view as Bastian began swaying to the swing band’s opening notes.  The lights glinted off the glossy jacket they made him wear, but it couldn’t distract from the charming, beautiful smile that spread over Bastian’s face as he took a deep breath.

 

_Who was the beauty_

_That fabulous beauty_

_That beauty I saw you with last night_

 

God, it didn’t matter how many times he heard it, Bastian’s voice could still make Iolo’s knees go weak.  Bastian wrapped his arms around himself, his hips rocking gently as he crooned

 

_If he was an angel_

_He sure kept his wings out of sight_

 

It could have been fourteen years ago, Bastian just a scrawny little thing and Iolo hiding from the cops for picking the wrong pocket.  The good old days.  And Bastian hadn’t aged a day, Iolo thought, smiling fondly as his fiancé tilted the microphone stand forward, meeting the eyes of a clearly drunk and smitten man in the front row as he warbled

 

_I knew such a beauty_

_And foolishly let him out of my life_

 

Iolo found himself swaying along to the tune, smiling smugly as Bastian straightened without even winking at the poor guy.  Bastian glanced over, and Iolo blew him a kiss from where he stood.  Bastian’s face nearly glowed as he sung to Iolo

 

_That was no beauty_

_That was my guy_

 

Bastian finished the song with a flourish, sliding away from his microphone and bowing to the standing ovation the patrons of the Hot Box gave him.  Iolo joined in, pushing away the sudden tightening in his chest as Bastian mouthed ‘thank you’ and placed his hands over his heart, bowing again before sauntering off stage, the spotlight following him until he was behind the curtain and in Iolo’s arms.

 

“Absolutely stunning,” Iolo breathed, pecking the other man’s lips gently.  “As always.”

 

“You have to say that,” Bastian quipped, laughing brightly as Iolo swung him off his feet and started carrying the singer towards his dressing room.  “Put me down!  You have to marry me before you can carry me over the threshold.”

 

“So many rules,” Iolo groused but placed Bastian down all the same and letting his fiancé lead the way into the small room.  Bastian flicked on the light and was stripping out of the too-tight, too-flashy jacket before Iolo closed the door.  “That no-good director of yours still expect to wear the same costume you wore five years ago?”

 

“It serves the purpose,” Bastian mumbled, disappearing behind the screen to change.  “Your present is on the table,” he called and Iolo’s heart sunk, eyes falling on the small box tied with red ribbon.

 

“Oh.  Bastian, I—I’m sorry but--,”

 

“I don’t care if you forgot to get me anything,” Bastian interrupted, popping his head around the screen to smile at the other man.  “It’s almost as if we were already married.”

 

Iolo snorted, picking up the box as Bastian ducked back behind the screen to finish changing.  “Well, I’m happy I could help.” 

 

“All it would take is a marriage license and a blood test,” Bastian hinted heavily.

 

“Blood test,” Iolo echoed concerned.

 

“Sure, it’s the law.”

 

“It’s the law.  First they shut down my crap game, now they want to open my veins,” Iolo mumbled, mostly to himself.  Bastian laughed and Iolo untied the bow with a jerk, tossing the ribbon on the table and opening the lid.  He frowned.  “Are—did you buy me business cards?”

 

“Yes,” Bastian called back.  “Do you like them?”

 

“They’re blank,” Iolo said, picking the top one up, running his finger over the engraved ‘Iolo Arana’ dead center and mocking.

 

“Well, I figured you could have some engraved with your current title, and then save the others for when you get promoted,” Bastian answered cheerfully, joining Iolo leaning against the edge of the table, dressed his navy blue suit.  Iolo looked at the fraying cuffs, the too short trouser legs, and hated himself a little.  He needed a new suit and yet he’d gotten Iolo a present.  “Don’t you like them?  Because you can tell me.  We can pretend we both forgot to get anything.”

 

“No, I—they’re great,” Iolo assured, forcing a smile that Bastian didn’t believe.  “Thank you, pie face.”  Bastian rolled his eyes at the nickname and Iolo breathed a sigh of relief, slipping the box into his pocket.  “You sound much better.  Has your cold ceased?”

 

“Well, Rey took me to a doctor who owed her a favor,” Bastian started, reaching for a small book on his dressing table.

 

“You cannot trust anyone who owes Rey a favor,” Iolo cautioned blandly and Bastian tweaked his fiancé’s nose gently in response.  “And what did this doc in the box have to say?”

 

“He asked me a lot of questions—mostly about you.”

 

“Me?  I’ve never been sick a day in my life,” Iolo defended quickly, crossing his arms.

 

“Well, he thought my cold might be caused by psychology,” Bastian shrugged, passing the book over to Iolo, who held it at arm’s length with trepidation.

 

“How could he know you have psychology?  I’m telling you, this doc sounds no good, scout,” Iolo said, turning the book over in his hands.

 

“No, aces, just listen,” Bastian ordered exasperatedly, taking the book back and flipping to the earmarked page.  “Everyone has psychology.  It explains why certain people do certain things.”

 

“And it explains why you sneeze when you have a cold,” Iolo finished flatly, unconvinced.

 

“Well, it says here,” Bastian continued, skimming the page, “that a guy could develop ‘neurotic tendencies’ from ‘continued insecurity.’”  Bastian shot Iolo an expectant look but Iolo just blinked back, shrugging in incomprehension.  “In other words, waiting around _fourteen years_ to get married could give a guy a cold.”

 

Iolo’s brows drew together, glancing between the book and Bastian’s face.  “Was this doc wearing a hat with a pinwheel when he told you that?”

 

“ _Iolo_ \--,”

 

“No, come on, Bas!  Think about it.  How could you get a cold from not having a ring on your finger?  Why, half of New York would be sneezing up a storm if that was the case!”

 

“Half of New York isn’t getting strung along for _fourteen years_ , Lo!”

 

“How do you know, are you taking a survey,” Iolo countered, hands on his hips.  The two glared at each other for a long moment before Iolo’s lips twitched and Bastian snorted.  Iolo’s head dropped back, tears springing to his eyes as he laughed.  He felt Bastian’s hands grip his lapels and Iolo pulled him closer, hands around the singer’s narrow waist.  Bastian’s chuckles and gasping breaths puffed over Iolo’s shirt collar and Iolo found himself smiling affectionately down at the top of his fiancé’s head.  “Why don’t you leave the psychology here and we can go to dinner.”     

 

“Are we going for dinner?  Do you have an early morning?”

 

“Of course we’re going to dinner,” Iolo said, almost insulted.  “I may be a louse but I’m not so low as all that.”  Bastian grinned, shifting to wrap his arms around Iolo’s waist, nuzzling the other man’s neck, and Iolo couldn’t help but reply in kind, ducking his head to breathe in his fiancé.

 

“Do you have any lozenges?”

 

“Minnie,” Bastian huffed, turning his head to glare at the woman who’d barged in while keeping his head resting on Iolo’s shoulder, “it’s customary to knock before entering the room of an engaged person.”

 

“As far as I’m concerned, you’re alone,” Minnie said haughtily and Iolo began stroking Bastian’s back languidly in retaliation.  “Do you have any lozenges?”

 

“Lemon or cherry,” Bastian sighed.

 

“Lemon.”

 

“Top drawer, the big box,” Bastian pointed over to the bureau in the corner.  Minnie strolled over and Bastian returned to Iolo’s neck, much to the older man’s enjoyment.

 

“I’ll bring it back later,” Minnie announced, shutting the drawer with a bang and Bastian jerked in surprise.

 

“Keep ‘em,” Iolo ground out.  “You need them more than he does.”

 

“ _You_ ,” Minnie glowered while Iolo stared right back.  “I had it all lined up with Society Max tomorrow night and he cancels.  Because of your silly crap game!”  Iolo froze, barely noticing as Minnie flounced out, knocking on the door as she passed.

 

Bastian slowly raised his head, his face stony as he took a step back.  Iolo followed and Bastian took another step away, his hands curling into fists, and Iolo sunk to his knees.  “Bastian,” he said cautiously.  No reply came.  “Bastian, look at me.”

 

“Get up,” Bastian growled, his voice cracking slightly.  “It reminds me of your stupid crap game.”  Bastian seemed about to continue but his face twisted and he sneezed wetly.

 

“Bless you.  Listen to me—you’re getting upset over nothing.  Bless you,” Iolo added as Bastian sneezed again and Iolo got to his feet.  “It’s one last game and then I’m through.  You’ve got to believe me.”

 

“How?  You pro-pro,” Bastian broke off, grabbing a tissue and sneezing into it.

 

“Bless you.”

 

“You _promised_ ,” Bastian finished.  “You promised you gave the dumb game up.  You promised me months ago!”

 

“I _am_ ,” Iolo stressed.  “I just needed some time to—to wrap up loose ends.”

 

“I’m a loose end,” Bastian shot back, not angry, just accepting, and Iolo’s mouth snapped shut.  “I’m one of your loose ends, Lo.  When are you going to cut me off or wrap me up?”

 

“Bas, don’t—bless you,” Iolo sighed, waiting for Bastian to finish blowing his nose.  “Bas, you know I love you.”

 

“I know you love that game too,” Bastian mumbled, looking down at the tissues crumbled in his hands.  Iolo’s hands came to clasp Bastian’s wrists lightly and Bastian felt his eyes grow heavy.  “I’d like you to leave now, please.”

 

“That’s right,” Iolo soothed.  “I’ll go.  You’ll see—tomorrow will be better.”  Bastian inhaled shakily but Iolo beat him to it.  “Bless you.”

 

“Ah-choo!”

 

“Try some cough syrup,” Iolo suggested, backing away slowly.  “I’ll see you tomorrow, Bas.”

 

Bastian didn’t reply, wiping his nose again while Iolo walked out, closing the door behind him softly.  He felt another sneeze coming on but it died in his throat and he tossed the tissues in the wastepaper basket, all his energy drained.  He looks around the little room, wondering where to go from there.  His eyes rested on the phone in the corner and he was there and dialing before he noticed he was doing it.

 

“Hi, it’s me… Yeah, about that—does your offer still stand?...  His—his floating aunt in Pittsburgh is back…  How about a late dinner?  There’s a spot that does amazing meatballs and spaghetti… Thanks, Finn, I owe you.  Yeah, meet you outside in ten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poe and Finn are fun, aren't they? I don't know why I get such a kick out of them playfully swiping at each other :)
> 
> Song Credit: 'Who Was That Lady' by Dean Martin, slightly altered to apply to a male. Give it a listen if you're interested; I think it matches the feel of Bastian' and Iolo's relationship at this point :)
> 
> As always, thank you so much to everyone who left a comment or kudos on the last chapter!! You are all magnificent readers!! :D


	4. Talk About Your Long Shots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Hit a bit of a wall with this story-getting the flow to work is a bit tricky because everything moves so fast. But it's back now!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Rey ducked behind a newsstand, grabbing the first paper in reach and opening it was a quick snap, ducking her head.  After a beat, she craned her neck to the left, shifting the paper to the right and narrowing her eyes as she looked across the street.  Finn was at the corner with his usual partner in missionary work, handing out pamphlets with bright smiles to the passersby, who took them without looking away from Finn’s easy grin.  Rey watched as the man she had been following for the better part of the morning sauntered across the street, hands in his pockets.  Rey could tell the exact second Finn noticed, his smile dropping into a tight scowl even as Poe stopped and held out his hand expectantly.  Finn glanced from the hand to Poe’s face before turning on his heel, dragging his partner down the street.  Poe saluted smartly after them before starting off after them leisurely.

 

“Hey, you gonna pay for that,” asked the annoyed attendant, poking his head out of the newsstand.

 

“Nah, I can’t read,” Rey replied mindlessly, passing the paper back with her eyes on Poe’s retreating figure.  The attendant scoffed, folding the paper back while grumbling under his breath.

 

“Like a mooncalf,” Jess mumbled, appearing at Rey’s shoulder with a mildly disgusted look on her face.

 

“You should be following Iolo,” Rey censored.  “He needs to be lining up the regulars for tonight.”  Jess rolled her eyes and jerked her thumb over her shoulder where Iolo was wandering down the sidewalk in clear distraction.

 

“The only thing he is lining up is an early grave,” Jess drawled.  “The opportunity of a lifetime and all he can think about is Bastian.  I do not understand how a smart businessman like Iolo could go and fall in love with his own fiancé.”

 

“Bastian has always been his weakness,” Rey said blandly before smiling as Iolo drew to a stop in front of them.  “Iolo, I have good news.”

 

Iolo’s eyes lit up.  “Where is he?”

 

“Following Mr. Finn, who gave him such a look it would cool a rabbit in mating season,” Rey declared with a triumphant nod.  Iolo’s brow wrinkled as he frowned, confused.

 

“Why would Bastian be following Finn?  And why would Finn look at him in any rabbit-like manner?”

 

“What?  No, Poe Dameron,” Rey stressed, barely restraining from slapping herself in the face.  “Remember?  The bet, the thousand bucks!”

 

“Oh.  That,” Iolo acknowledged flatly, raising his thumb to his mouth and biting down on the nail.  “Great.”

 

“Mr. Finn will not go to Havana—why, he wouldn’t go the 35th Street with Dameron,” Rey encouraged, elbowing Jess in the shoulder for support.

 

“Iolo, it is time to face the facts.  Bastian has been in your pocket for fourteen years.  You can surely survive one day without him,” Jess stated, rather mercilessly but desperate times call for desperate measures.

 

“Of course I can,” Iolo agreed quickly, moving onto index fingernail.  “But he was upset.”

 

“Well.”  Rey twisted her bottom lip in thought.  “After your cut from tonight’s game you will be able to buy him a nice present.”  Iolo paused in his gnawing, considering that option.

 

“And then you can go back to being happily engaged,” Jess tagged on.  Iolo nodded slowly.  “But first, you need to set up tonight’s game.”

 

“Yes.  Yes, that could work,” Iolo drew out slowly, hands returning to his pockets.  “Alright, you’re on.  You two send word through the usual channels.  Meeting spot is Maz’s Diner at six.  Rey, be at Dameron’s hotel by five-thirty to collect.”

 

“And where are you going,” Rey called after the retreating man, who turned on his heel to face his associates while continuing on his way.

 

“Well, I have to be sure he made it home safe!”

 

*****

 

“I think we finally lost him,” Finn declared proudly, hands on his hips and looking up and down the street as his fellow missionaries filed into the mission.

 

“You certainly did your best to discourage him,” Slip said, somewhat scolding, but Finn just nodded satisfied.

 

“I certainly did.”

 

“You know, we’re hardly in a position to be turning away repenting sinners,” Slip mentioned, twisting one of the buttons on his jacket sleeve as Finn turned to frown at him.

 

“I don’t think the word ‘repenting’ quite fits Mr. Poe Dameron,” Finn scowled, jerking open the door and gesturing for Slip to go first.  “I think a more appropriate word would be ‘ho--,”

 

“General,” Slip announced quickly, driving his elbow back into Finn’s stomach as the woman seated behind the desk drew herself up to her full, considerable height and looked over the pair with censor.

 

“Good afternoon, Sergeant.”

 

“General Phasma,” Finn answered, surprise clear in his voice as he executed a quick salute and Slip scurried away towards the soup kitchen door as fast as he could.  “We weren’t expecting you.”

 

“So I gathered,” the general replied archly, taking a seat again and not offering Finn to do the same.  Finn refrained from sighing as he removed his hat and moved to stand in front of her, feeling exactly like a schoolboy.  “I am attending the national convention in Philadelphia and I thought I would make a few impromptu visits along the way.  I was surprised to find the mission left open and unattended in the middle of the day, Sergeant.”

 

“Are you, General,” Finn asked blandly, glancing down at the open ledger on the desk.  “As you can see from our records, we don’t seem to get anyone in, even to rob the place.”

 

“Yes,” the general drew out lowly, flicking back a page and then returning to the unmarked pages.  “Since you’ve mentioned it, Sergeant, I would like to discuss that matter with you.”

 

“The soup kitchen is doing very well,” Finn stated, placing his cap on the corner of the desk and folding his hands in front of him.

 

“The evangelizing is the portion I am concerned about,” General Phasma remarked, her pale blue eyes drilling holes into Finn’s and the young man barely contained his need to fidget.  “Sergeant, I’m believe it is time to close this mission and focus our efforts elsewhere.”

 

“General, with all due respect, that’s a horrible idea,” Finn said frankly.  “Maybe I’m not the right person to run this mission, but--,”

 

“Sergeant, if you can’t make this mission work, no one can,” the general shot right back.  “Your services can be better utilized elsewhere.  In fact, we are looking to expand our presence overseas and--,”

 

“Excuse me,” came a too-smooth voice behind Finn, and Finn’s jaw locked in response.  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have an appointment at 12:30.”

 

“Please, come in, sir,” the general smiled, gesturing for the interrupter to come inside, and Finn looked over his shoulder with an unamused frown.  Poe beamed charmingly back, hat between his hands and looking every bit the penitent Finn was convinced he wasn’t.  “How can we help you today?”

 

“The sergeant and I have a—scheduled guidance session this afternoon,” Poe explained smoothly, shooting Finn a mischievous glance.  Finn ground his teeth and didn’t reply.

 

“Excellent, sir,” the general approved, glancing back down at the ledger.  “Sergeant, you failed to fill out the form for this appointment.”

 

“It’s informal,” Finn started but Poe cut in quickly.

 

“The ledger was temporarily lost when I came by yesterday, wasn’t it, Sergeant?  I did leave my name—now, where is the Verse of the Day?”

 

“Proverbs 14:27,” General Phasma answered promptly, tapping the card propped up at the front corner of the desk.  “ ‘The fear of the Lord is a fountain of life--,’”

 

“ ‘—turning a person from the snares of death,’” Poe finished easily, nodding.  “An excellent choice, Sergeant.  But where is yesterday’s lovely Isaiah verse?”

 

Finn inhaled deeply through his nose.  “Top left drawer,” he said flatly, and Poe bowed slightly from the waist before moving around to the desk.

 

“Thank you.  If you’ll pardon me, ma’am,” Poe continued, carefully blocking the general as he slid the drawer open and picking up the top card, “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation earlier.”

 

“You were waiting in the coat closet, I’m sure,” Finn commented drily.  The general shot him a tight frown but Poe winked, holding up the card so Finn could clearly read the scrawled message on the back.

 

“I must have gotten turned around,” Poe replied easily, walking slowly over to the sergeant, holding out the Isaiah Verse of the Day card upside down to Finn.  “But what Sergeant Finn forgot to mention is that he has a promising pray meeting coming up tomorrow night.  Isn’t that right, sergeant?”

 

“Is that so,” the general asked with more than a healthy dose of skepticism and shock.

 

Finn took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, eyes scanning the words he had spent most of the day before memorizing.  _Twelve sinners, Thursday midnight X Poe Dameron_.  “General, I am able to promise you at least a dozen in attendance at our midnight meeting tomorrow.”

 

“That’s right,” Poe murmured, smiling in a rather cat-like manner.

 

“If that’s the case, it would certainly change matters,” General Phasma mused.  “I look forward to the meeting tomorrow night.  Hallelujah to the Lord.”

 

“Hallelujah to the Lord,” Poe echoed cheerfully.

 

“Hallelujah…Lord,” Finn sighed to himself, bowing and shaking his head in disbelief.  What had he gotten himself into?

 

“Now, I must be getting along,” the general announced.  “Sergeant, until tomorrow.  No, no, I will show myself out, thank you.”

 

“She is certainly enough to put the fear of God into anyone, isn’t she,” Poe commented as General Phasma exited through the door to the soup kitchen.

 

“Just to be clear,” Finn stated, grabbing the marker out of Poe’s hands and slamming it down on the desk, “I am only going to dinner with you to help the mission.”

 

“Sure, buddy,” Poe replied conciliatorily, smirking in amusement and holding up his hands in mock surrender.  “You can tell yourself whatever you want.”

 

“Listen here, Dameron--,”

 

“Could you save the lecture for the plane?  I always have trouble sleeping on long flights,” Poe teased, leaving Finn blinking in confusion.

 

“Plane?  Why do we need a plane to go to dinner?”

 

“We could swim to Havana, if you prefer,” Poe shrugged, checking his watch.  “Our flight leaves in four hours.  I’ll pick you up here.”

 

“Havana, _Cuba_?”

 

*****

 

Jess paced just inside the doors of Maz’s Diner, glancing nervously over her shoulder at the collection of scoundrels, lounging around the bar, each with a bright red carnation in their buttonholes.

 

“Pava,” ground out an especially tall man in a neat black suit, wiggling a finger.  Jess jerked his chin up before approaching, plastering on a tight smile.

 

“Ren.  Charming as always,” Jess greeted with forced warmth.

 

“I hope Arana does not intend to keep us cooling our heels all evening,” Ren mentioned coolly, pointedly taking out his gold pocket watch and swinging back and forth between his fingers.

 

“Has he ever let us down before,” Jess placated even as she felt pinpricks of sweat begin to bead on the back of her neck.  “He has a few final arrangements before—well, he can tell you himself,” Jess declared as said man made his slow way into the diner, hands deep in his pressed pants’ pockets and a guarded look on his face.  “One moment,” Jess simpered Ren before scurrying over to where Iolo had taken up position at the far end of the bar.  “Well, is it settled?  Can I tell everyone the spot is--,”

 

Iolo hissed through his teeth, slapping a hand over Jess’s mouth and glancing around frantically.  “Not until I have that grand,” he muttered quickly into her ear before removing his hand.  “I sent Rey to Dameron’s hotel to collect.  Once we have that, we’re in like flint.”

 

“Arana.”

 

“Why, if it isn’t Ten-Finger Ren!  Jess, look, it’s our old friend Ren,” Iolo said brightly, angling his body to give Jess a worried glance as he picked up the glass of milk slid across the bar for him before turning back to the tall man.  “Last I heard you were making your name out in Chicago.”

 

“I have recently returned for a brief stay,” Ren answered slowly.

 

“Is that so?  Nothing serious I hope,” Iolo asked with friendly curiosity.

 

“No.  I heard there was sting on my father.  I didn’t want to miss the show.”

 

“Or the bounty,” Jess mumbled behind Iolo, who lifted his heel and subtly stepped back to squash her toes.

 

“Well, I trust it went well for you,” Iolo offered, smile still fixed on his face.  “And if you will be patient, tonight’s—entertainment—should be the best of my career.”

 

“For your sake I hope it is,” Ren drawled, adjusting his cuffs.  “I have a guest with me, who you do not want to disappoint.”

 

“Yes, I heard Sn--,” Iolo started, only to choke back as a gun barrel was suddenly shoved between his ribs.  Iolo stared at the weapon before slowly looking up at a glowering Ren.  “You know I do not allow weapons at our nights.”

 

“We cannot be too careful,” Ren answered, voice a low rumble as he carefully replaced his pistol into its holster, his eyes not leaving Iolo’s.  “Where is the spot, Arana?”

 

Iolo clenched his teeth, pulling his shoulders back and drawing himself up when Jess behind him hissed, “Hux at three.”

 

The bartender purposefully dropped a glass and at the loud shatter, everyone with a red carnation instantly stood at attention.  Ren took a step back, eyes on the revolving glass door, and Iolo heaved a sigh before turning, taking a gulp of milk as he did so. 

 

“Lieutenant Hux, this is a pleasant surprise,” Iolo greeted, Jess moving to stand next to him as the stern-faced, red-haired plainclothes police officer crossed his arms and examined the crowd.

 

“Well well well, what a charming group,” Hux said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable as he prowled his way further into the bar.  “Harry the Horse, Scottie the Scout, Danny the Driver.  And Ten-Finger Ren,” Hux continued, pausing in front of the man and smiling snake-like up at the towering figure.  “I just had the pleasure of arresting your father.”

 

“That makes one of us,” Ren answered archly, turning up his nose as he buttoned the middle button of his suit jacket and shifted back to the bar.

 

“Arana,” Hux announced, scanning Iolo from shoe to coiffed hair.  “Something tells me you have some idea what has brought all these lowlifes and small-time crooks--,”

 

“Alleged,” Harry the Horse pointed out helpfully from one of the small tables.

 

“—together,” Hux finished, sending an unimpressed look over his shoulder at Henry.

 

“They all got thirsty,” Iolo shrugged carelessly, holding up his own glass of milk in demonstration.

 

“Did they,” Hux asked flatly, looking around again.  “And they all decided to wear red carnations too?”

 

“What am I, a florist,” Iolo shot back, frowning.  “Why, there’s a thousand reasons--,”

 

“Iolo,” Jess warned lowly, squeezing Iolo’s right elbow once hard.  Iolo’s eyes went wide, glancing around the police lieutenant to see Bastian make his distracted way into Maz’s, his nose in a red leather-covered book.  Iolo barely restrained a whimper as the regulars in the collected crowd whipped off their hats in respect and Bastian looked up, surprised.

 

“It’s official,” Iolo sighed, biting down on his thumb nail mindlessly.  “Everyone who hates me is now here.”

 

Bastian finally caught sight of Iolo.  Iolo waved hesitantly behind Hux’s back, and Bastian bit his bottom lip before slowly turning back to the door he had just come through.

 

“Wait—Lo,” Jess piped up, rushing over to sling an arm around Bastian’s waist and spinning him back around.  “I think we should just come clean.”

 

“Have you lost your mind,” Iolo gaped, taking a step forward but Hux’s arm shot out to stop him in his tracks.

 

“That’s right, Pava.  Time to fess up,” Hux encouraged, while Bastian watched Iolo with evident worry, book hugged to his chest.

 

“Well, it was meant to be a surprise,” Jess started, keeping a tight grip on Bastian with both arms now as the singer tried to go to his fiancé, “but this is a bachelor’s party—for Iolo.  He has finally decided to get married.”

 

“What,” Hux spat out, while a few of Iolo’s regulars cheered and started up a slightly unorganized chorus of ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.’

 

“He did,” Bastian asked skeptically as Iolo ducked under Hux’s outstretched arm and approached.  Jess released Bastian only for Iolo to wrap his own arms around his fiancé.

 

“I—yes, of course,” Iolo stammered, mind whirling as he shot a grimace Jess’s way.  “I—I thought about what you said.  Last night.  And you were right.”

 

Bastian’s jaw dropped in disbelief, book falling to the floor between their feet with a slight patter as he pressed his palms flat against Iolo’s chest, as if to check he was really there.  “I don’t—you really mean it?  You really do want to marry me?”

 

“Of course I do, doll face,” Iolo breathed, smiling softly and cupping a hand around Bastian’s smooth cheek.  “There was never any question for me.  Not about that.”

 

“Well, this calls for congratulations,” Hux’s voice interrupted the tender moment.  Iolo glared at the policeman who had moved to stand beside the pair.  “And a speech, isn’t that right, Arana?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Bastian cut in smoothly, raising an eyebrow.  “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

 

Iolo snorted, ducking his head at the look of shock that crossed Hux’s face.  “Lieutenant Hux.  I have an ongoing work relationship with your soon-to-be husband,” the policeman explained, tone hard. 

 

“Speech, Arana,” Ren called from where he was sprawled on a barstool.  Iolo scowled at the man, but the others took up the call and, when he looked back at Bastian’s hesitantly happy face he found himself taking a deep breath without a second thought.

 

“Well, I’m not usually in the business of making speeches,” Iolo began, taking a small step back and gathering both of Bastian’s hands between his own.  “But it looks like after years of waiting, me and Bastian are finally naming the day.”

 

“Finally,” Bastian agreed teasingly, and Iolo reached up to tweak his fiancé’s nose gently.  Over Bastian’s shoulder, Iolo noticed Jess conspicuous pointing to his left.

 

“And although he knows this isn’t a square deal,” Iolo continued, glancing out at the listening crowd, his eyes instantly catching sight of Ren, who had moved to stand at the back of the room, his hand resting against his hip where Iolo knew his packed holster to be.  “Uh,” Iolo paused, Ren cocking an eyebrow before looking pointedly at Bastian.  Iolo swallowed drily.  “As—as I was saying,” Iolo stumbled, pulling his fiancé to his side so Bastian’s chest was pressed against the side of his ribcage, “even though Bastian knows I’m a liar and a cheat and a phony--,”

 

“Lo,” Bastian whispered, hand over Iolo’s rapidly beating heart, “I think you can stop now.”

 

“—he knows I love him and would do _anything_ for him,” Iolo finished to Ren, who smiled sleazily but dropped his hand from his holster.  Iolo exhaled heavily, a motion copied by Bastian, who kissed Iolo quickly on the cheek before saying,

 

“I think we should forget about having speeches at our wedding.”

 

“And when will the happy day be,” Hux asked in mock curiosity.  “I will finally take a day off.”

 

“What,” Bastian asked, frowning.  “Are you saying--,”

 

“Well, we still need to do a blood test,” Iolo interrupted, snapping his fingers behind Bastian’s back for Jess and then pointing in Ren’s direction.  Jess nodded once before moving towards the threatening man in the back.

 

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” Bastian grumbled down to his shoes.

 

“It’s the law, pie face,” Iolo soothed, one hand massaging small circles against Bastian’s hipbone.  “And we are all law-abiding people in here,” he added for Hux’s benefit.

 

“You could always elope,” Hux mentioned out of the blue.  Iolo’s jaw dropped, missing the gleeful light in Bastian’s eyes.

 

“Are _you_ telling me to break the law,” Iolo gaped.

 

“You are both old enough to elope,” Hux pointed out with a bland shrug.

 

“Is he calling me old,” Bastian asked Iolo with a slight frown.

 

“Not a day over twenty,” Iolo appeased quickly, kissing the tip of Bastian’s nose.  “I robbed the nursery.  No one doubts that.”

 

“And Maryland will marry you without a blood test,” Hux finished, ignoring the exchange between fiancés.

 

“Well, I—isn’t that unhygienic,” Iolo asked, feeling dizzy.

 

“Lo, will you elope with me,” Bastian asked softly, looking hopeful for the first time in years.

 

“Bas,” Iolo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “I—yes.  Yes, we’ll elope.”

 

“Tomorrow night,” Bastian pressed, smile beginning to widen.  “After my set?  Please?”

 

“Tomorrow night,” Iolo echoed, nodding.  “Will you be ready by then, scout?”

 

“Yes, yes, I will,” Bastian beamed, throwing himself against Iolo’s chest and squeezing tight.  “I’ll go right now and pack before work.  I can’t believe—it’s finally happening!”

 

“Too tight,” Iolo wheezed, tapping Bastian’s side, and the singer released him with another grin.

 

“Tomorrow night, you’ll meet me at the Hot Box at eleven, won’t you?”

 

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Iolo reassured, not able to keep the tender look off his face as Bastian squeezed his hands before starting for the door.  “Wait, don’t forget your book,” Iolo called, scooping up the object and tossing it over for Bastian to catch one-handed.

 

“I’ll escort you,” Hux said, putting his fedora on his head while Iolo frowned over at him.  “Have you ever ridden in a police car, Bastian?”

 

“No,” Bastian answered truthfully as Iolo scowled.  “Lo, what’s it like?”

 

“Roomy,” Iolo shot back, crossing his arms as Bastian winked in apology as Hux gestured for Bastian to go through the revolving door first.  Just as Hux exited, Rey raced in, face flushed from running and panting for breath.  “About time, Rey,” Iolo snapped.  “How long does it take you to collect a thousand bucks?”

 

“I—have—bad—news,” Rey managed between heaving breaths.

 

“Do you indeed,” Iolo drawled.  “Well, I have just discovered Hux watches me trim my nose hairs, my fiancé has been threatened by a maniac with a gun, and I have to elope tomorrow night.  I think I have had my share of _bad news_.”

 

“They’re—gone,” Rey shook her head, hands on her knees.  “Finn—and Dameron.  Gone to Havana.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And everyone lives happily ever after...right? ;)
> 
> Thank you so much to every reader, especially those who have left a comment or kudos on the last chapter. You are all wonderful and majestic and I truly appreciate every one!!
> 
> Next up: A Night in Havana


	5. If I Were a Bell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this chapter was incredibly fun to write.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Poe leaned against the stone wall of the rectory, eyes drifting to follow couples as they strolled through the courtyard, either pausing at the fountain to toss a coin and make a wish or continuing through without barely a glance at the church behind them.  Poe tilted his hat back and scratched his hairline, forcing a tight smile at the flower seller with her cart who was set up by the gate, watching.  He was debating joining her—peddlers always had a story to tell and Poe an ear to hear—when Poe’s current obligation wondered over, nose in a small book purchased at the airport.

 

“It says here,” Finn started, stopping to stand next to Poe, who crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, “that the foundations of this church were laid in 1542, making it the oldest church on the island.”

 

“And the flowers?”

 

Finn’s head snapped up, blinking in surprise because the other man hadn’t said a word since their plane had landed.  “What?”

 

“Does your book mention the flowers?  How the red contrasts with the gray?  How their scent mixes with the reminder of incense?  How they climb up the walls, clinging into crannies,” Poe asked, mildly annoyed, pointing as he spoke.  “What does the book say about that?”

 

“I—um,” Finn faltered, glancing around.  “The book isn’t that detailed.”

 

“Then forget it,” Poe said firmly, snatching the object from Finn’s hands and tossing over towards the rectory doors.  “Why come all the way to Havana if you’re not going to see anything but the pages of a travel tome?”

 

“You know perfectly well why I’m here,” Finn answered, hands on his hips without making any move to retrieve his discarded book.

 

“But now you’re here,” Poe went on, dismissing Finn’s statement with a flick of his wrist.  “You said you’ve never been anywhere before.  Now you are—even if the circumstances don’t meet your strict moral code—and you want to spend the entire time _reading_?”

 

Finn hesitated at that, turning his attention to the surroundings as he mulled over the other man’s words.  Now that he mentioned it, the flowers did look lovely in the quickly setting sun, and the scent in the courtyard was pleasant, warm yet damp after a rain shower earlier.  Turning back, Finn had to brace himself against the steady, piercing brown-eyes gaze, a gaze that probably hadn’t wavered while Finn had looked around.  “I—I didn’t want you to get any ideas,” Finn finally said, honestly with a hint of embarrassment.

 

“Trust me, sergeant,” Poe said blandly, “when I see a man in Havana with his nose in a book, I know he has no ideas.”  Finn’s lips twitched up at that, slightly against his will, but Poe noticed and pressed his advantage.  “Tell you what, I did promise to take you to dinner.  You might as well get a meal out of this.”

 

“I’m getting more than a meal out of this,” Finn mumbled mostly to himself.  Poe’s eyes flashed, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead, and Finn quickly added, “Twelve sinners!  I—I meant the twelve sinners you promised me.”

 

“Of course,” Poe nodded, a crooked smile creeping across his face.  “You will have to manage with only one sinner tonight.  It hardly seems worth your skills.”

 

“I’m sure you will be more than enough trouble,” Finn replied drily.

 

“So I’ve been told,” Poe said, sounding overly pleased with himself before offering his bent arm to the younger man.  “Shall we?”

 

Finn ignored the arm as he pivoted on his heel and headed for the gate.  Poe shrugged easily, following at a sedated pace, wondering passively how far the other man would get before admitting he didn’t know where he was going.  Betting that it would be the corner, Poe lingered long enough to buy a small white rose from the flower peddler with a smile before continuing on.

 

*****

 

Poe nodded up at the waiter before asking, “What will you have to drink, sergeant?”

 

Finn frowned down at the card in front of him, where he assumed the drink options of this establishment were listed.  He didn’t know Spanish, and he knew that Poe knew that—not that the older man had offered any assistance.  Finn suspected Poe was waiting for Finn to admit defeat, but that wouldn’t do.  _Leche_ looked familiar—wasn’t that the word for ‘milk’?  That would work.  “Dolce leche, please,” Finn announced, lifting his chin confidently.

 

Poe blinked, looking taken aback.  “Uh, are you sure there, serg?”

 

Finn’s eyes narrowed into a glare.  “Yes.”

 

Poe opened his mouth before he seemed to think better of it and shrugged carelessly.  “Dolce leche,” Poe told the waiter, holding up two fingers, and the waiter nodded and withdrew.  “Well, how does this compare to your usual Wednesday night,” Poe asked, voice friendly as he folded his hands on the tabletop.

 

Finn smiled, looking around at the small tables made for two, the dimly lit stage where a piano player was plucking at the keys softly, the couple barely moving and yet swaying to the music.  “It will do.”

 

Poe tossed back his head, laughing merrily at that, one hand settling over his heart.  “It m-must be such a disappointment from the Savoy,” he teased when he caught his breath.

 

Finn shrugged, not rising to the bait this time as he eyes caught on to the swaying couple again, held to each other, chest to chest, not facing each other and yet each other’s whole world.  What was that like—to love someone and be loved by someone so much that it didn’t need to be said for it to be known?  How did someone find that?

 

“Dos dolce leches,” the waiter murmured, returning, and Finn’s attention snapped back to see Poe observing him with an inscrutable look while the waiter placed two half coconuts with two straws in each on the table.  The waiter gave Poe an expectant look, his tray tucked under his left arm, and Poe nodded.

 

“Do you mind if I order,” Poe asked Finn, tapping his fingers idly to the beat.  “If you don’t like it I can send it back.”

 

“Um, alright,” Finn agreed, even though he knew there was no way he’d send food back.  What a waste and how embarrassing.  As Poe tilted his face up to converse with the waiter in curt Spanish, Finn drew one of the coconuts to him, inspecting the drink.  It looked like it was some kind of milkshake.  Why, that was even better!  Finn hadn’t had a milkshake since his birthday earlier that year when Bastian had treated him to cheesecake and milkshakes after a day in Central Park.  Finn took a quick sip, eyes widening at the unusually sweet flavor that slid over his tongue.  He had gulped down nearly half by the time Poe had finished and the waiter withdrew.

 

“I should have asked if you ate pork,” Poe said, slightly apologetically, before he glanced down at Finn’s coconut, jaw dropping in shock.  “You—uh—you should really pace yourself, buddy.”

 

“I think I can handle a brain freeze,” Finn rolled his eyes, and Poe gulped nervously.  “What do they put in the milkshakes here?  It’s delicious,” he continued, taking another sip, Poe’s eyes drilling into his as he swallowed.

 

“Uh, well,” Poe paused, clearing his throat.  “You see, they put a—preservative in the milk, to keep it from spoiling in the heat.”

 

“It’s amazing,” Finn marveled.  “They should do this in America to encourage children to drink more milk.”

 

Poe snorted, rubbing the back of his neck with a rueful smile.  “You might be on to something there, buddy.”

 

“What’s it called?”

 

“Beg your pardon?”

 

“The preservative,” Finn said slowly, pointing down at his milkshake.  “What do they call it?”

 

“Ah.  Bacardi,” Poe supplied, ducking his head before glancing up at Finn through his eyelashes.  Finn nodded thoughtfully.

 

“We should really have Bacardi in America,” Finn stated before finishing his milkshake with a final slurp.

 

“I know a number of people who would agree with you,” Poe replied, reaching out and switching Finn’s empty coconut with his full one.  “Do me a favor and drink this one a bit slower, buddy.”

 

“I feel fine,” Finn countered defiantly.

 

Poe’s lips quirked up as he leaned back in his seat, arms crossed loosely over his chest.  “You know how milkshakes can sneak up on you.”

 

“Are you talking about brain freeze again?”

 

“Something like that,” Poe allowed with an amused smile, more open than his smiles usually were and Finn found himself smiling back before he picked up the coconut and took a more languid sip.  “So tell me, how on earth did you get involved in the evangelizing business?”

 

Finn took another sip.  It wasn’t something he talked about much, except with Bastian.  Then again, no one ever bothered to ask, except Bastian.  Maybe it was the music relaxing him or the easy smile the older man had trained on him or maybe he was getting brain freeze, but Finn found himself answering.  “I was born into it.  My parents were missionaries in Hawai’i.”

 

“That explains it,” Poe mumbled to himself, Finn leaning forward to catch the softly spoken words.  “I suppose they pushed you in a certain direction.”

 

“They might have, but they died when I was very young,” Finn admitted, taking another gulp of his milkshake.

 

“I’m sorry,” Poe murmured, the small smile falling away.  For some reason, Finn didn’t like that.  The other man ought to be smiling.

 

“I never knew them.  It’s all right,” Finn replied with a small shrug.  “I was raised in the mission’s orphanage until I was old enough to come to the mainland for school.  I studied theology, like I was told I would, and I joined the mission, like I was expected to.  There wasn’t—I never really thought of doing anything else.”

 

“And what about now?”

 

Finn frowned across the table at Poe, biting the straws between his teeth with furrowed brow.  “Now I work at the mission in New York,” Finn enunciated slowly, wondering if Poe was the one with the brain freeze.

 

Poe shook his head, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on the edge of the table.  “I meant, what else would you do _now_ , if you thought about it?”

 

Finn shrugged, sipping the milkshake.  “I—well, I don’t exactly have the resources to do anything else, do I?”

 

Poe let out an exasperated groan, shaking his head again.  “If money was no object.  If you had a million dollars right now, what would you do?”  Finn chuckled around the straws in his mouth, and Poe smiled, his hands moving to cup the coconut between his palms, his fingers brushing Finn’s as he lowered the drink back to the table.  “Well?”

 

Finn had no idea what compelled him to, but he found himself saying, “I’d open a nightclub.”

 

Poe blinked twice, rapidly, before he snorted, flopping back with an annoyed scowl.  “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.  But you don’t have to lie to my face.”

 

“I’m not lying,” Finn snapped, hands curling into fists in his lap.

 

“And what would you do with a nightclub, sergeant,” Poe drawled, clearly not believing a word but humoring Finn all the same.  Finn found it infuriating.

 

“The first thing I’d do is hire my best friend.  He’s a singer at a club, but his boss treats him horribly and doesn’t pay him what he deserves.  I’d hire him, and he could work whenever he wanted, get paid what he should.”

 

Poe’s jaw dropped a fraction, staring across at the younger man, and Finn took a long slurp of his drink in defiance.  “You mean to tell me,” Poe started slowly, “that if you could do anything you wanted to, you’d help your friend?”

 

“I always told myself if I could help just one person in this world, it would be worth it,” Finn admitted to the coconut, fingers pulling at the fine blonde-brown hair on its exterior.  “And if I could choose, it would be Bastian.”

 

“Bastian,” Poe repeated loudly, and Finn squinted over at the older man, who cleared his throat quickly.  “I—uh—I met a Bastian, recently.  At Maz’s Diner.”

 

“That’s him,” Finn beamed.  “He always goes there, usually after a show or to meet—well…”

 

“His fiancé,” Poe finished, sounding distracted.

 

“He told you about Iolo,” Finn frowned.  “Bastian doesn’t talk about him, especially with strangers.”

 

“I’m a sympathetic listener,” Poe said quickly, jaw clenching for a moment before he inhaled deeply, calmly.  “So, you would start a nightclub and hire your friend.  A nightclub needs more than a singer, you know.”

 

Finn chuckled at that, a little surprised that he couldn’t stop for nearly thirty seconds, barely noticing as Poe flagged down a different waiter and mumbled ‘agua, por favor.’  Finn caught his breath before saying, “I _know_.  I’ve got it all worked out.”  He leaned back and held up his hands, fingers spread wide, picturing in his mind, not for the first time, the set up.  “I’d run the kitchen.  I’m the cook for the soup kitchen, you know.  Actually, if we weren’t here, I’d be there now, making up stew for tomorrow.”

 

“No kidding,” Poe muttered, receiving the glass of water from the waiter and sliding it in front of Finn, pulling the milkshake away with his other hand.

 

“In fact, during the day it would be a soup kitchen,” Finn stated, focused vaguely over Poe’s left shoulder.  “I’d keep it open with the earnings from the club.”

 

“Sounds like you have a neat and tidy business plan,” Poe offered, a teasing lilt in his tone that Finn ignored.

 

“And I wouldn’t have to worry about some soul-saving quota,” he continued, frowning.  “I’d help people—no logs or generals or-or pamphlets.  I hate pamphlets,” Finn finished fiercely, meeting Poe’s gaze swiftly, and this time the older man was the one to look away.

 

“That sounds—that sounds like a great plan, buddy,” he breathed out before tapping his knuckles on the tabletop and straightening.  “Here comes our food.”

 

“I’m not that hungry,” Finn said, almost surprised by the fact.  “I could do with another milkshake.”

 

“After some food, serg,” Poe answered firmly as the waiter placed four plates of food on the table.  Finn’s eyes narrowed and Poe sighed.  “Trust me, just this once.”

 

“Sure,” Finn shrugged, even as he caught the waiter’s eyes and pointed to the coconut by Poe’s elbow and raised one finger with a smile.  The waiter nodded and winked, turning away for the bar next to the small stage as Poe began to explain what each dish entailed.  Finn pretended to listen, nodding at regular intervals and accepting the laden plate when Poe passed it over to him.  Finn poked at the different items with his fork, sampling each without much thought as he listened to the slow melody.  Curious, Finn twisted around to see if the couple from before was still molding together on the dance floor.  They were, and others had joined them, but the first couple—the man in black trousers and a loose white shirt and the woman in a ruffled light pink dress—were still in their own corner, their own world.

 

“No, we didn’t order that,” came Poe’s voice, and Finn turned back to see their waiter smile knowingly down at Poe before placing another filled coconut on the table by Finn’s plate.  Finn grinned up at the waiter, who winked again, before moving away to another table.  Poe rolled his eyes to the ceiling, sighing heavily.  “You’re going to make yourself sick.  And no, I don’t mean a brain freeze.”

 

“Do you dance,” Finn asked abruptly.  Poe’s eyes appraised the younger man for a moment before he returned his attention to his plate.

 

“Rarely,” Poe replied, stabbing at a plantain with his fork.

 

“Would you dance with me,” Finn pressed, and Poe chewed on the fried fruit moodily.

 

“No,” Poe said after he swallowed, taking the full coconut from Finn and taking a swallow, grimacing slightly at the harsh sweetness.

 

“I’ve never danced before,” Finn mused, undeterred by the refusal, swiping the milkshake back and taking a gulp of his own, not noticing how Poe’s grip tightened around his fork.  “Is it hard?”

 

Poe clicked his tongue, clearly debating with himself, as Finn looked over his shoulder again as the music shifted seamlessly into a more upbeat tempo.  “If you give me back that milkshake and eat something, I’ll show you,” Poe finally said, voice tight.  Finn blinked, considering for a moment, before slowly holding the coconut out.  Poe took it with two hands, his gaze steady on Finn’s face, and Finn returned the favor as he picked up his knife and fork. 

 

The pair ate in silence, the music drifting between them like a soft breeze as Finn slowly, methodically ate his meal, surprised to find the pork dish reminded him of Hawai’i in some vague way.  He didn’t realize how hungry he must have been until his plate was empty and looked up, seeing Poe finished and sitting sideways in his chair, legs crossed at his ankles, coconut in his hand, eyes on the dance floor that was rapidly filling with couples.

 

“Well,” Finn prompted, raising an eyebrow in challenge, and Poe glanced his way, expression drawn.

 

“On your feet, then, if you can manage it,” Poe sighed, setting the coconut on the table with a light thud and pushing himself up.  Finn rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of the older man’s words as he quickly jumped to his feet, pausing only as the room around him suddenly spun under him.  “Easy does it,” came Poe’s voice gently, hand gripping Finn’s left elbow, steadying.

 

“I’m fine,” Finn replied, even as he held onto Poe’s shoulder and blinked until the room came back into the focus.

 

“Why don’t we take a walk,” Poe suggested, lips suddenly close to Finn’s ear, which Finn found not unpleasant even though he shook his head.

 

“You said you would show me dancing,” Finn pointed out, straightening up to look down his nose at the other man.  “You’re not backing out on your word now, Dameron.”

 

Poe sighed, tilting his head back and closing his eyes for a moment, lips moving slightly but silently as Finn watched Poe’s slicked curls fall loose from the movement and the heat.  “Me and my stupid word,” Poe finally muttered before opening his eyes and leading Finn by the hand to the now cramped dance floor.  Once he maneuvered them into a small open space, Poe grabbed Finn’s right hand in his left, his face carefully blank as he slapped Finn’s left hand onto his right shoulder before settling his own right hand solidly just below Finn’s ribcage.  Another dancer bumped into Finn’s back and he stumbled forward a small step, and Poe took an equal step back, keeping the younger man at arm’s length.  Deliberately, Poe sifted his weight to his left, his right hand pressing with a slight urge against Finn’s side, and Finn swayed to his right in response.  Poe hummed in idle approval before swaying to his right, Finn following a breath later.

 

After a few more shifts like that, Finn caught Poe’s gaze and said, “They aren’t dancing like this.”

 

Poe’s lip twisted at that.  “They’re dancing like they’re in love,” he stated slowly before returning his attention to some point over Finn’s right shoulder.

 

Finn hummed at that as the slow melody continued, finding himself humming along the music as his mind wandered.  Dancing like they’re in love.  Finn wondered if his parents ever danced like that.  Or if Bastian and Iolo did.  He knew, in the way someone knows from being told over and over rather than through experience, that dancing leads to other things.  Things that weren’t appropriate outside of matrimony.  Maybe that’s what Poe had meant—the other couples, that one couple, were dancing to lead to something else.

 

“I really think you should get some air,” Poe said suddenly over the strangely muted trumpet trills, and Finn blinked at him, wondering.  He wasn’t naïve; he knew that marriage didn’t always precede the ‘something else.’  Something tangible.  Something Poe seemed to know about.  Or at least something Poe recognized, and something Finn wouldn't find recognizing himself.  Deciding without putting it into a cognizant thought, Finn didn’t sway to the left like Poe’s grip led him, instead taking a step forward, eyes on Poe’s slightly parted dull pink lips.  Poe’s hand on Finn’s waist instantly moved to press against Finn’s stomach, halting him.  “That’s enough,” Poe ordered and the next thing Finn knew he was being towed out of the place, pushed out to open door and stumbling on the cobble stones as Poe pressed a few crisp bills into the maître d’s hand.

 

“What are you--,” Finn started before he was cut off by Poe’s glare and his hands around his hips.  The world spun again and the ground left his feet, and Finn fought back an uncomfortable groan as something sharp but sturdy dug into his guts.  Finn’s fists punched against Poe’s back, but the older man just held Finn’s legs tighter in fireman’s hold, marching down the street, and Finn had to close his eyes to keep the nausea at bay.

 

Vaguely, Finn became aware of a steady stream of mumbling and tried to focus on what was being said.  “…smart move, taking a church mouse to Havana…damn Bacardi…own fault for taking that stupid bet…gonna kill that stupid man next time I see him, never mind his little song bird…”

 

Poe’s voice broke off suddenly as a wall of cool, wet water enveloped Finn’s head, and Finn sat up, sputtering for breath.  A hand settled on the back of Finn’s skull and pressed him into the water again before pulling him out by the collar of his jacket a second later.  Finn turned, glaring up at the other man, who scanned Finn’s face critically before shoving Finn back into the fountain.  This time, Finn was prepared, holding his breath and settling his hands on the mossy stone wall, closing his eyes and let the cooling sensation wash over him until his ears started to ring and he sat up, throwing his head back as he surfaced.

 

“Better,” Poe asked drily from his perch on the fountain’s edge just to Finn’s right.

 

Finn took a couple deep breaths before nodding.  “You’ll never believe it, but when I was under I could’ve sworn I heard bells ringing.”

 

Poe snorted, looking down and massaging the palm of his hand with his thumb.  “I’ll believe it.”

 

“I tried to kiss you,” Finn blurted out, shifting to sit with his legs folded under him.

 

“I noticed,” Poe drawled.

 

“You didn’t let me.”

 

“Two for two,” Poe nodded, bottom lip twisting again like he was upset at something.

 

“Why not,” Finn inquired, pushing himself to sit on the fountain ledge next to Poe.  Finn rocked dangerously at the sudden move, and Poe’s hand shot out, resting between Finn’s shoulder blades securely.  Finn looked up, searching the older man’s face, which quickly turned away.

 

“Because there’s no honor in winning with loaded dice,” Poe admitted quietly, rubbing circles into Finn’s back mindlessly.  Finn shifted slightly, knocking his knee against Poe’s.

 

“Do you mean the bet,” Finn asked, smiling sadly as Poe’s head snapped back, mouth gaping.  “I heard you talking to yourself.”

 

Poe’s jaw clenched, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.  “Yes.  I meant the bet.”

 

Finn picked at the material of his trousers, pulling at the ironed pleat.  “Did you win?”

 

Poe let out a heavy sigh, hand sliding up unto his arm was slung across Finn’s shoulders, pulling the younger man to his side gently.  “Yes.  I won as soon as you stepped off the damn plane.”

 

“Then,” Finn paused, his thoughts slightly muddled but something nagging at the back of his mind.  “Then, the talking and the dinner and-and everything else…that was just you?”

 

“Finn,” Poe huffed, getting to his feet with a shake of his head.  “What does it matter?  I lured you here, and you know you only came because of my marker.  This isn’t—this isn’t some romantic evening, Finn,” Poe snapped, throwing out his arms.  “There are no magical bells in your mind; it was those!  In the church.  I didn’t bring you here because I wanted to, and you didn’t choose to come because _you_ wanted to!”

 

“Well, what if things changed,” Finn asked, crossing his arms.

 

“They _can’t_ ,” Poe stressed, hands digging into his hair in frustration.  “Why don’t you understand that?  Things can’t change tonight.”

 

“Fine,” Finn declared, getting to his feet and barely stumbling as he marched over to the agitated man, pointing a finger and pressing it into Poe’s chest.  “If you want that—if that’s truly what you want, then that’s the end for tonight.”

 

Poe sagged, either in relief or disappointment.  “Thank you,” he breathed.

 

“ _But_ ,” Finn continued firmly, “next time—when there’s not bet or milkshakes or bells—you’re not pushing me away.”

 

“There is no _next time_ , bud.”

 

“Yes, there is because I’m saying there is,” Finn retorted, holding up his chin and rolling his shoulders back.

 

“And I take orders from you now, do I,” Poe asked, incredulity creeping into his voice and Finn smirked.

 

“I think you take orders from anyone who offers you a challenge,” Finn countered, smirk widening as Poe’s eyes went wide.  “Consider this your next challenge.  I want to go to dinner with you again, no bet, no bells, and no preserved milk.”

 

“Alcohol,” Poe mumbled as his eyes scanned Finn’s face.  “It was alcohol.”

 

“I know,” Finn rolled his eyes.  “Well?”

 

Poe inhaled and exhaled, lips pressed together in a thin line.  “You’re on, sergeant,” Poe agreed finally, holding out his hand.

 

Finn eyed it cautiously.  “Do I need to hold out for your marker?”

 

“My handshake is as good as my marker,” Poe answered with a smile.  “There’s some honor among scoundrels and sinners.”

 

“When you say it, I almost believe it,” Finn replied, gripping Poe’s hand tightly and shaking it once.

 

“When I say it, you make me want it to be true,” Poe allowed, releasing Finn’s hand and squinting up at the church tower.  “We should be heading back.  I think there’s a plane we both need to be on.”

 

“And if we aren’t,” Finn asked, even as he allowed Poe to lead him by the elbow out of the courtyard.

 

Poe’s lip quaked up.  “And if we aren’t, I’ll have a hell of a time making my marker.”

 

*****

 

Finn smiled lazily, sleepily, as they moseyed down Seventh Avenue.  “Isn’t it beautiful by dawn’s light,” Finn mused, slipping his hand into the crook of Poe’s elbow.

 

“Times Square,” Poe smiled softly.  “The only place in the world where dawn is turned on with a light switch.”

 

Finn rolled his eyes, smacking the back of his hand against Poe’s chest lightly.  “You’re not as much of a romantic as you pretend to be, are you?”

 

Poe shrugged carelessly.  “Maybe I save my romance for humans, not steel-and-glass buildings.”

 

“Chemistry,” Finn hinted, and Poe beamed in response.

 

“Yeah, chemistry,” Poe agreed, pleased, placing his hand over Finn’s on his arm and squeezing lightly.

 

They continued down the block, passing a street washer and a fleet of taxicabs waiting to start the day.  Finn glanced over, studying Poe’s profile as the older man looked up at the twinkling billboards of lights.  “Why did you start gambling?”

 

Poe pursed his lips, chest expanding as he inhaled deeply.  “The same reason anyone starts, I suppose,” he replied, meeting Finn’s gaze sheepishly.  “The money.”

 

“But there are other ways--,”

 

“Not for someone who has no talents and no resources,” Poe interrupted gently, sounding anything but self-pitying but Finn’s chest tightened all the same.  “For a gambler—a true gambler—there’s a thrill for the game, but there’s also a fear.  A fear that someday you’ll have nothing again.  No money and no one to help.”

 

“So, you bet because you’re afraid someday you won’t be able to?”

 

Poe blinked as if he had forgotten Finn was listening to him.  “I suppose that sums it up.”

 

“But then where does it end?  You’ll just gamble until the day you die,” Finn frowned, pulling Poe to a stop outside the front door of the Save-a-Soul Mission.

 

“Oh,” Poe smiled reassuringly.  “Maybe, or maybe something better than money will come along to gamble on.”

 

“Like what,” Finn pressed, teasingly, and Poe chuckled lightly, stepping back from the younger man and reaching into his jacket pocket.  Poe brought the slightly crushed rose to his nose for a quick sniff before passing it over to Finn with a small smile.

 

“I’ll let you know when I find it.”

 

Finn took the flower with a scoff at the sappiness of it all, twirling it between his fingers slowly.  “Well, this is my stop,” he said, jerking his head towards the door.  “I’ve had a…strange and confusing night.”

 

“That would be the Bacardi,” Poe grimaced apologetically.

 

“But I’m sure the next one will be better,” Finn said sternly, and Poe held up his hands in surrender.

 

“Asking me to top a night in Havana on our first date is a high order, buddy,” Poe joked, smirking as Finn glared, not exactly playfully.  “But you know I love a challenge.”

 

“As every gambler does,” Finn quipped, taking his key out of his pocket and slitting it into the lock, twisting to unlock but frowning as there was no resistance from the deadbolt.  “That’s strange.”

 

“Is everything okay,” Poe asked over Finn’s shoulder.  A policeman’s whistle broke the early morning silence and Poe flinched back instinctually.  Finn looked around, confused, when suddenly Rey came sprinting around the corner, hair flying loose from its buns.  She ran right into the pair, shoving Poe to the left and Finn to the right as she threw open the mission door.

 

“Cheese it,” she shouted, and Finn’s eyes bugged out as there was a responding bellow from inside.  The next instant, Rey jumped to the side just fast enough to miss being barreled over by the stream of panicked men with red carnations and flushed faces came running out.

 

Finn’s jaw dropped, recognizing Jess in the crowd before she split off down the alley across the street, the others running in every direction like rats out a sinking ship.  Then Finn caught sight of Iolo and saw Poe grab the other man by the arms before Finn was knocked to the ground by a tall man in black.

 

“What the hell is going,” Poe spat, shaking Iolo by his biceps.

 

“A late-night tea party,” Iolo snapped back, kicking Poe straight in the kneecap as the police whistle rang out again.  Poe cursed, letting go of Iolo, who instantly grabbed Rey’s hand and took off for the alley.

 

Finn pushed himself to his hands and knees, shaking his head to clear the fuzzy fog that had come over him when his head had met concrete.  He saw Poe holding Iolo for a moment before letting him go, letting the blonde man run away.  Next, Finn was being pulled to his feet, and a uniformed police officer was asking, “Sir, are you alright?  Lieutenant, I think we have one!”

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Lieutenant Hux said curtly, appearing in front of Finn.  “This is one of the mission workers.”

 

“Oh,” the other officer frowned.  “Sorry, sir,” he apologized to Finn, who straightened and pulled away with a jerk.

 

“Did you see the men who just ran out of here,” Hux asked.

 

Finn glared over Hux’s shoulder at Poe, who looked back, shrugging in incomprehension.  “I sure did,” Finn growled, fists clenching at his sides.

 

Hux beamed like Christmas had come early.  “And could you identify them if you saw them again?”

 

“I certainly could,” Finn snarled, ignoring how Hux clapped him on the shoulder gleefully before leading his officers into the mission for a sweep for evidence.

 

“Finn,” Poe started, but Finn just shook his head.

 

“Did you know,” Finn snapped.

 

Poe blinked.  “What?”

 

“Did you know he was going to have his stupid crap game here,” Finn hissed.  “Is that why you took me out of the country?  So Iolo could set up his game in peace?  In _my_ _mission_?!”

 

“No,” Poe snapped.  “Finn, I had no idea--,”

 

“You let him go,” Finn accused, pointing.  “I saw you!”

 

“No, I didn’t,” Poe shot back through clenched teeth.  “I swear on my--,”

 

“Your what,” Finn sneered.  “Honor?  The honor of scoundrels and sinners?  I think I just saw all I needed of that _honor_!”

 

“Finn, listen to me,” Poe started, fighting to keep his voice placating, but Finn shook his head again, marching into the mission.

 

“Your fellow gambles just made a mockery of—of my life’s work!”

 

“A life’s work you don’t even _like_ ,” Poe shouted, throwing out his arms.

 

Finn’s nostrils flared with anger, eyes narrowing.  “At least I have one, unlike you,” he stated before slamming the door in Poe’s face.

 

Poe sneered at the closed door before starting off down the sidewalk in measured strides.  He had a few questions for a certain acquaintance of his.

 

*****

 

“Now you listen to me,” Ren growled into Iolo’s ear as he boxed the shorter man against the brick wall of the alleyway, gun barrel pressed sharply into the blonde’s ribs.  “My boss is out ten G’s.  My boss does not go out ten G’s, Arana.”

 

“That’s how the game goes,” Iolo growled, glaring and waving Rey away behind Ren’s back.  Rey didn’t waver from her spot.

 

“You will find a new spot,” Ren ordered.  “You will start the game, and we will play until things are satisfactory.”

 

“Or else what,” Iolo snapped.  “You’ll shoot me?”

 

Ren smirked, chuckling lowly in his chest.  “Oh no.  That won’t do me any good.  No, I will shoot that lovely little husband-to-be of yours.”

 

“Don’t you dare,” Iolo started, only for Ren’s other hand to slap over his mouth, squeezing his face between his fingers.

 

“His name is Bastian, isn’t that right?  And he’ll be working at the Hot Box tonight.  It won’t be difficult, Arana.  It could on stage or in his dressing room or as he walks home.  Is that what you want?  Is that how you want your wedding night to be?”

 

“We’ll find a new spot,” Rey said quickly, and Ren’s head looked over his shoulder.  “It will take time.”

 

“For Bastian’s sake, it better not take long,” Ren said, tossing Iolo to the ground from his hold on the blonde’s jaw before holstering his pistol and strolling off, having the nerve to whistle as Iolo glared after him.

 

Rey pulled Iolo to his feet, dusting off his suit briskly as Iolo took deep, calming breaths.  “Round up the regulars,” Iolo said, voice hushed and strained.  “Send Jess to scan the west side.  We need a spot where we won’t be heard or disturbed during daylight.”

 

“And Bastian,” Rey asked, hesitantly.

 

“Bastian must never know about this.”             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it was going so well! Nothing like some extra drama, right? ;)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left a comment or kudos for the last chapter. You are all fantastic readers and I'm so happy to see that people are enjoying this fun little story.


	6. Sue Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!

If it hadn’t been fifteen hours without so much as a sighting…

 

If it hadn’t been fifteen hours since that door had slammed in his face…

 

If he didn’t have four hours to make that damn marker, he wouldn’t be here. 

 

Poe didn’t have any respect for Arana any more.  It’s one thing to dead leg a bet; it’s one thing to play two angles; but it’s another thing to drag some upstanding sap into a mess and then leave Poe holding the bag.  And if Arana didn’t think that was despicable in his rotten soul, then Poe didn’t feel bad about going to another upstanding sap for some information.  If Iolo had some other hiding spot, one that the patrons at Maz’s or the barbers didn’t know about, there was one person who might know.

 

The Hot Box was already busy and smoky at eight in the evening when Poe prowled into the dimly lit club.  Each table had a small lamp, which did little more than illuminate the person closest to it, but the primary source of light were the footlights and the single spotlight trained on the man in front of a standing microphone on stage.  Bastian swayed naturally to the tempo set by the brush taps on the snare drum and the playful plucking on the piano keys.  Bastian took a deep breath before drawing the microphone close to his lips and crooning

 

_I believe, I believe_

_I believe in wishing wells_

_But I also believe in a lot of things_

 

Poe swallowed drily, wondering if Bastian knew the irony of his song choice.  Movement to his left drew Poe’s attention away from the man on stage, singing the next verse with a level of sweet sincerity that had Poe deciding that no, Bastian truly meant every line he sang.  Spotting a familiar silhouette with three buns and a sharp nose sliding into an empty table by the kitchen doors, Poe set his jaw and weaved his way over.

 

_Why do I believe_

_I guess I believe because_

_I believe, I believe_

_I believe that dreams come true_

 

“Rey,” Poe ground out, pulling out a seat with a jerk and spinning it around with a flick of his wrist, sitting it in backwards with his arms crossed over the back.  “Where is he?”

 

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Rey said flatly, not even bothering to try and sound convincing.

 

“You know he played me dirty,” Poe prodded, keeping his voice pitched low.  “I deserve to speak face to face.”

 

“There are complicating circumstances,” Rey replied, voice still bland but with a hint of something else…

 

“Is he here,” Poe demanded.  “Backstage?”

 

Rey let out a single, humorless laugh, crossing her arms over her chest.  “I wish he was here.  I wish Iolo would deliver his own messages.”

 

“What message,” Poe pressed, leaning forward as the instrumentals took over the song with a sweep.

 

Rey glanced at Poe out of the corner of her eye before refocusing on the stage, where Bastian was casually leaning along the side of the piano, smiling at the player.  “I have to let Mr. Bastian know he will not be eloping tonight.”

 

“What?  What do you mean, elope?”

 

“It is a long story,” Rey said carefully, before covering her mouth to hide a yawn.  “The crap game continues.  Iolo cannot get away.”

 

“Cannot or does not want to,” Poe scoffed before frowning at the angry look Rey shot his way as Bastian moseyed back to the microphone.

 

“Trust me when I say, Iolo would give his life for this game to end, Dameron.”

 

Poe blinked at that.  “Rey, is there something… _else_ going on here?”

 

“More than I can begin to explain,” Rey sighed, starting to get to her feet as the song’s final verse began.  Poe’s hand shot out and halted her with a strong grip on her arm.

 

“If I deliver the message for you, will you take me to Arana?”

 

Rey blinked, surprised, before glancing back at the stage.

 

_And if you wish for a dream by the wishing well_

_Don’t you tell the wish or you’ll break the spell_

 

“You have a deal, Dameron,” Rey agreed, flopping it back her seat.  “I can’t break his heart again.”

 

_It may sound naïve_

_But that’s what I happen to believe!_

 

Bastian finished, spreading his arms wide as he held out the last note, beaming happily, his gaze caught in the spotlight, giving him a slightly dazed look.  Poe nodded once to Rey before getting to his feet, eyes trained on as Bastian bowed once, quickly, before walking off stage left, recorded music piping through the club as the musicians took their break.  Poe quickly dodged between the tables, evading the distracted bouncer beside the backstage door with too little effort, and looked around the dark, narrow backstage.  The musicians were gathered in the first dressing room Poe passed, and the next two had their doors closed and names he didn’t recognized painted on them in fading white.  The fourth had the door cracked open and light softly bleeding into the hall.  Squinting at the door, Poe found it simply had a ‘B’ peeling off.

 

Poe hesitated, fist raised to knock.  It was one thing to cockily announce that he’d go and tell a guy an elopement is off, but it was another to have to go through with it.

 

“I can see you hovering out there,” called Bastian’s cheerful voice and Poe felt his stomach twist.  “Either come in or try the next one.”

 

Deciding there was no turning back anymore, Poe pushed his way in, carefully closing the door before looking around the small room.  Bastian had shed the shiny black suit jacket and was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of a small travel bag, attention focused on shifting through the contents, looking for something.

 

“Uh,” Poe tried, breaking off to gulp as Bastian turned his face up to him.  “Hi.”

 

“Hi, Poe,” Bastian chimed back, closing his bag with a snap and climbing to his feet.  “I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.  I thought he’d send Rey, to be honest.”

 

Poe’s eyes widened.  “Oh, you—you were expecting…this?”

 

Bastian pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side.  “Well, it’s a bit traditional—and when have Iolo and I ever been traditional?”  Bastian broke off to chuckle lightly and Poe felt all the blood drain from his face.  “But I suppose it’s sweet, sending a second.  Not seeing each other until we’re sighing the papers.  But you’re very early; my set doesn’t end until eleven.”

 

“You have a beautiful voice,” Poe offered, smoothing a hand back over his slicked hair.

 

Bastian smiled, shrugging modestly.  “I’m alright.  To hear my boss talk, you’d think I cracked every note and croaked through the lyrics.”

 

“He sounds terrible,” Poe said firmly, remembering Finn’s words from the night before.  “Why don’t you leave?”

 

Bastian tossed back his head, laughing merrily and leaning back against the make-up counter.  “Wouldn’t that be a fine thing?  And I suppose I would buy groceries and pay rent with my smile, isn’t that right?”

 

“You could work somewhere else,” Poe suggested, pulling at his cuffs nervously.

 

“Hardly seems worth the risk, does it,” Bastian shrugged.  “I’ve got to keep a roof over our heads.  My friend does God’s work,” he explained, and Poe scowled.  “Honest and good, but it doesn’t exactly pay well in this world.  And besides that, I’m getting married,” Bastian continued, his whole face lighting up with excitement, and Poe looked away.  “I have a husband to support now.  Or I will have one tomorrow.”

 

“Bastian, sit down.”

 

“Speaking of that,” Bastian continued quickly, turning his back to Poe as he started opening and closing drawers.  “I didn’t have much time to buy a ring.  But you know Lo; once he finally gets an idea in his head--,”

 

“Bastian,” Poe said, more firmly, but the singer ignored him.

 

“Anyway, I have this ring I bought _years_ ago.  It’s in here somewhere, but I’m not sure if it will fit him.  Do you know if you and Lo have similar ring sizes?”

 

“Bastian, please.”

 

“And do you think if I keep talking you won’t tell me he’s not coming tonight,” Bastian asked, suddenly sinking to his knees with his back still to Poe.

 

Poe was frozen on his spot, eyes trained on the bowed back of the younger man.  “You knew.”

 

“Fourteen years,” Bastian mumbled back with a slight shrug.  “It’s usually Rey.”

 

“She couldn’t do it,” Poe answered, inching his way closer to the man kneeling on the ground, wanting to see his face.  “This isn’t the first time.”

 

“First time he’s missed an elopement,” Bastian muttered, looking up at Poe when the older man paused at his shoulder.  “Do I get an excuse?”

 

Poe swallowed drily.  “Something came up.”

 

Bastian snorted, rubbing the back of his wrist against his nose, eyes dropping to his lap.  “Something always comes up.”

 

“But you know that,” Poe stressed, brows drawing together, confused.  “You know who he is.  You’ve known for _fourteen_ _years_.”  Bastian nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “What are you waiting for?”

 

“For him,” Bastian replied softly.

 

“For him to _what_?!  To _change_ ,” Poe snapped incredulously.  “After fourteen years haven’t you learned people like him don’t change?!”

 

Bastian huffed with a slight smile, shifting to hug his legs to his chest.  “You’ve never been in love.”  Poe’s scowled deepened and Bastian rested his cheek on his knee, staring off.  “Just wait.  Wait until you fall for someone you shouldn’t.  Wait until it happens to you.”

 

A flash of a toothy grin, warm eyes, strong hands crossed Poe’s mind, but he shook his head in exasperation.  “And now what?  Are you going to sit here and wait for him to show up again—wait until he has _time_ for you?”

 

“Doesn’t it sound pathetic when you say it like that,” Bastian managed through hitched, wet breaths.  “He loves me.”

 

“He loves a sure thing,” Poe shot back, mercilessly, almost hating himself as the first tear fought its way through the singer’s tightly closed eyelids.  “Like four aces in the final hand.  He knows he can bid his time and still take the pot.”

 

“I know,” Bastian whispered.

 

“What are you going to do about it,” Poe pushed, glaring at the man who refused to fight back.  A buzzer went off somewhere in the hall, and Bastian quickly wiped at his cheeks.

 

“I have to get back on stage,” he said quietly, getting to his feet and reaching for his discarded jacket from the back of the rickety wooden chair.  Poe held out his arm, Bastian stopping with the outstretched limb against his chest.  “I don’t know, Poe.  I never know when it comes to Lo.  I can’t explain it.”

 

“Then let me tell you what I know,” Poe gentled, swiping his thumbs under Bastian’s eyes as fresh tears welled there.  “People like Arana and I don’t deserve this.  We don’t get to have someone like you or—or your friend try to make us better.  That’s not for us.”

 

Bastian ducked his head, worrying his jacket between his fingers but not showing any signs of responding.  Poe waited another moment before he lightly tapped Bastian’s cheek and left.  He couldn’t stand there another moment, watching the man’s world crumble around him while he tried to hold it together.  And he had other pressing matters to attend to, first and foremost with Iolo Arana. 

 

Rey was waiting by the kitchen door, checking her watch until she caught sight of Poe.  “Was it bad,” she asked, taking in Poe’s stony expression.

 

“He knew it was coming,” Poe retorted over the applause as Bastian and the musicians came back on stage.

 

Rey sighed.  “Iolo will never forgive himself.”

 

“I hope Bastian doesn’t either,” Poe grumbled.  “Where are we heading?”

 

“Down.”

 

“Downtown,” Poe asked, as Rey pushed open the door.

 

“Something like downtown,” Rey shrugged, glancing over her shoulder one more time as Bastian carefully wrapped his fingers around the microphone stand, a slow melody beginning behind him.

 

_They’re writing songs of love, but not for me_

_A lucky star’s above, but not for me_

 

“Move before I marry him myself,” Poe grunted, shoving Rey’s shoulder.

 

****

 

Frankly, Poe thought Rey was playing him for a fool when, four blocks from the Hot Box, she stopped in the middle of the street, nodded and winked at a man in an orange construction vest and proceeded to begin climbing down an open man hole.

 

“Rey, I’m not in the mood for a wild goose chase,” Poe said flatly, and Rey’s head popped up with a tired expression.

 

“Trust me when I say none of us are pleased with the accommodations, but it is the best we could find on short notice.”

 

Poe glanced at the man in the vest, who shrugged at him went back to his thermos of tomato soup.  Sighing, Poe followed Rey down the steel footholds, grimacing at the smell but feeling some level of relief when his shoes hit dry cement.  Rey started off down the left tunnel, illuminated by temporarily rigged lights.

 

“You will grow used to the scent,” Rey offered over her shoulder to the man keeping two paces behind her.

 

“I hope I won’t be here long enough for that,” Poe muttered darkly, eyes scanning the damp, moldy arch of bricks and long, wide pipes over his head.  At what appeared to be a dead-end wall of pipes, Rey jumped down, disappearing, and Poe scrambled to follow, carefully lowering himself through the gap between floor and pipe.  His feet hit the ground and he ducked down, creeping forward under the pipes, and then blinking at the sudden brightness as he straightened and looked around.

 

Between a grid of pipes and drains, a lethargic game of craps was underway.  Parallel lines of guys in wrinkled suits and rolled shirt sleeves were kneeling while a tall man with his back to Poe oversaw the proceedings.  A small stack of cash was at his feet, Iolo knelt next to it, carefully counting out his cut before standing and stepping back, letting a player take his spot, dice already shaking in his fist.  Iolo didn’t even bother watching as the dice flew down the aisle, didn’t blink as the player groaned as the tall man in black took the stack and instantly placed another bet, looking around for the next taker.

 

Jess was the first to notice Poe, grabbing Iolo’s shoulder and whispering in his ear.  Iolo slowly turned his head to look, and Poe was shocked to see the drawn, pained expression on the other man’s face.  Iolo handed his cut over to Jess to manage and, shoving his hands into his pockets, made his way over.

 

“He insisted,” Rey explained quickly and quietly as soon as Iolo drew close to the pair.

 

“I’m sure,” Iolo answered, voice rough with exhaustion and emotion.  “And—Bastian?”

 

“Brokenhearted and alone,” Poe replied, taking a bit of pleasure in how Iolo winced as if he had been struck.  “Not that it’s any of your concern.”

 

“Of course it’s my concern,” Iolo hissed back.  “He’s my fiancé, isn’t he?”

 

“You have a strange way of showing it,” Poe snapped, crossing his arms.  “But that’s not why I’m here.”

 

Iolo sighed, running a hand down his face.  “Your one thousand.  Wait here, I will--,”

 

“No,” Poe cut in with a hard edge.  “I owe you a grand, and I don’t like to leave a debt unpaid.”

 

Iolo blinked, shooting a look at Rey.  “I was informed that you and the sergeant went to Havana last night,” he said uncertainly, watching as Poe took out his wallet.

 

“You and your informant were mistaken,” Poe said carelessly, holding out ten one-hundred bills.  “The sergeant, being a moral and godly man, refused to perjure himself in such a manner.  I was rebuked and dined alone in Havana.  Take your money, Arana.”

 

Dazed, Iolo took the bills with both his hands, staring down at them in confusion.  “I—I don’t--,”

 

“Now, if you don’t mind,” Poe continued, ignoring the twin lost looks trained on him as he slid his wallet back into the inside pocket of his jacket, “I would like a moment with your—collection of lost souls to settle another debt of mine.”

 

“No,” Rey and Iolo blurted out in unison.

 

Poe’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “Are you turning away players now?”

 

Iolo and Rey exchanged a quick glance before Iolo jerked his head over his shoulder and Rey moved to observe the game, leaving Poe alone with the man he most wanted to hurt in the world.  “Listen, you do not want to roll in this game,” Iolo whispered in a rush.  “Ren insists we stay until he has won back his boss’s ten g’s but Ren—having terrible luck—has not done so.  We have been playing for over twenty-four hours, and everyone is fatigued.  They will not take kindly to any new gambles.”

 

“Why don’t you leave,” Poe asked, shrugging.

 

“Ren has a gun.”

 

“And he’s threatening to shoot all of you?  Don’t be a fool, Arana; he doesn’t have the guts or the bullets,” Poe dismissed, and then choking on his inhale at the look of sheer fear on his acquaintance’s face.

 

“He’s not threatening anyone here,” Iolo said carefully, and Poe’s shoulders slumped in realization.

 

“How did he find out about Bastian,” Poe whispered.  “You’re careful about him—that’s the only good thing you’ve ever done for him.”

 

Iolo pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut, nodding in acceptance.  “It was a—mistake.  A mistake I will never forgive myself for.  But I can’t risk it—I can’t take the chance that if I run, Ren won’t beat me to him.”

 

Poe’s face twisted in thought, looking over his shoulder at the sluggish, almost choreographed movements, noticing that Ren’s stack was diminishing as the rolls went on.  The threat changed matters, changed the priorities.  Poe took another look at Iolo’s miserable expression, now trained on the never-ending crap game, and made his decision.

 

“Ren, you never did know when you outstayed a welcome,” Poe announced loudly, making his presence known to the half-asleep players.  The tall, black-clad man visibly stiffened, his back still turned, and Poe went on cheerfully, “I suppose you never learned from your father how to make a timely exit.”

 

That did it.  Ren let out a deep snarl, spinning on his heel to glare at Poe, who kept the bland smile on his face and took a few casual steps over to the crowd, shaking off Iolo’s desperate grab for his arm.  “And _you_ learned from _my_ father how to put yourself where you are not wanted,” Ren hissed through his teeth as Poe drew closer.  The other gamblers took matching steps away, well aware of Ren’s outburst nature.

 

“I am exactly where I need to be,” Poe stated carelessly, adding a light shrug to infuriate the other man a little more.  It worked, and Poe waited until Ren’s hand went for his holster before striking.  One quick fist to the face and Ren’s head snapped to the side as Poe’s other hand grabbed the grip of the revolver.  Fingers looped around the trigger guard, Poe flipped the gun into his hand, jabbing the barrel into Ren’s ribs before the taller man had recovered from the blow.  “Now that I’ve got your attention,” Poe growled, kicking his heel into Ren’s right kneecap and sending him to the cement with a grunt, “I have a proposition for all of you.”

 

“Well, if you have everything in hand--,”

 

“Arana, get where I can see you,” Poe ordered, focus not leaving the crowd, who were seemed too tired to do more than lean against each other and look in mild curiosity from the gun in Poe’s hand to the crumpled man on the ground.  Out of the corner of his eye, Poe saw Iolo, Jess, and Rey slump over, looking nervous.  “I have given my marker and I intend to keep it.  For that, I will need the assistance of,” he broke off to do a quick headcount, “all of you.”

 

“Dameron,” Iolo murmured, inching closer to the armed man, “I have an _engagement_ I cannot delay.”

 

“A standing engagement of fourteen years,” Poe retorted unsympathetically.  “If a few more hours in enough to alter those arrangements, I would be pleasantly surprised.”

 

“Of course we would be happy to oblige,” Rey interjected with a charming smile, and Poe got the impression she wanted to hurry this along.  “What is the mark, Dameron?”

 

“You all will give me your marker that you will present yourself at the Save-a-Soul Mission at midnight for a small prayer meeting,” Poe said, only realizing how bizarre that scheme sounded out loud.

 

There was a brief moment of silence except for the sound of water in the pipes surrounding them before the excuses started.

 

“I’d be happy to, but my boat to Jersey City--,”

 

“—my baby is having a wife, you know--,”

 

“—terrible case of influenza, never seen anything like it--,”

 

“—used to have ten fingers, but--,”

 

“You have my sympathy,” Poe cut in loudly, landing a kick to Ren’s stomach as he tried to get up.  Ren collapsed down and Poe continued, “But being honorable gamblers, you are aware of the importance of keeping a marker.”

 

“I will be happy to give my marker,” Iolo offered, patting his pockets in show, “but I happen to be blackballed at that particular establishment and--,”

 

“Arana, I have very little patience for you and at least ten ways to make you suffer,” Poe pointed out.  Iolo sighed, drawing out a small white card from his breast pocket and Jess passed a fountain pen over, her and Rey’s markers pressed into Poe’s free hand by an apologetic-looking Rey.  “Now, for the rest of you, I am willing to cut you a deal.”

 

“Now you’re talking,” Scottie praised, a bit of the gambling gleam returning to his bagged eyes.

 

“I will bet you, each, a grand against your marker.  One roll.”

 

“Dameron,” Iolo started, handing over his marker with a worried expression, “are you certain--,”

 

“Very certain.  Will anyone see my call?”  Poe watched as the collective exchanged looks, clearly thinking they were betting against a lunatic, before each and every one of them drew a scrap of paper from a pocket and Jess’s pen made the rounds.  “This, sadly, includes you, Ren,” Poe added, jabbing the toe of his now-scuffed shoes into Ren’s nose.

 

“I hate you,” Ren grumbled, sitting up and accepting the pen passed to him with a sneer.  “My boss--,”

 

“—doesn’t have the guts to lose in person and doesn’t factor into this,” Poe finished promptly, double-checking he had all twelve markers in hand before tossing the gun carelessly over to Iolo, who caught it, flabbergasted, against his chest.  “Get rid of that for me, will you?  Who keeps the dice,” he added, looking around.  Jess cleared her throat before producing the desired objects from the pocket of her jacket.  Iolo, holding the revolver by the butt of the grip at arm’s length, made his cautious way over to the ledge, as if afraid the weapon might come to life and decide to cut him down.

 

Poe watched that in mild amusement before focusing back on the task at hand.  Jess dropped the dice into his upheld palm, and Poe rubbed them between his hands, judging the weight and finding them true.  Ren, back on his feet, had joined the circle of gamblers, waiting and watching.  Poe swallowed, wondering why of all his bets this one had his heart in his throat.

 

“Luck be a gentleman tonight,” he prayed softly, puffing a soft breath over the dice in his left hand before shaking his fist, dropping to one knee, and sending the dice flying across the damp cement.

 

*****

 

“But I don’t _want_ to go to a prayer meeting,” Ren whined as he was marched down the steps from Maz’s private rooms above the diner.  Jess and Rey exchanged exasperated looks behind the man’s back.  Jess mimed shoving Ren down the stairs, and Rey considered the option before Iolo grabbed their shoulders and shook his head sternly.

 

“You gave your marker, Ren, and that’s that,” Iolo said instead, checking his watch.  “We have fifteen minutes to get across town.  Rey, call us a cab.”

 

“Who’s gonna pay for it,” Rey hissed, since Poe had taken their cut of the proceedings as hostage to ensure they delivered Ren to the prayer meeting.

 

“Ren will,” Iolo answered with a shrug, adjusting his tie in the hopes it would help him look less like he had spent the better part of the day in the sewers.  At least the quick shower had helped with the stench.  Ren mumbled something about not paying, but none of them paid him any mind; Jess went to hold open the door while Rey twisted Ren’s right arm behind his back and goose-stepped him out and Iolo paused at the foot of the steps, sudden movement catching his eye as someone dropped to hide under a table of a booth by the display case of cheesecakes.  Iolo swallowed drily, a pit of dread growing in his stomach, but he knew.  He turned away from the door and made a beeline for the seemingly empty booth, falling to his knees with a frown.  “Not hiding from me, are you, doll face?”

 

“I’ll have you know I dropped my fork,” Bastian snapped back haughtily, back pressed against the wall to ensure there was as much space between him and his kneeling fiancé.  Iolo smiled sadly, reaching up and across the tabletop until he caught the prongs of the fork between his fingers and brought it down.  He calmly passed the utensil over, and Bastian accepted it with a prim, “Thank you.”  

 

“I’m so sorry, Bas.”

 

“Of course you are.  You’re always sorry.”

 

“But this time--,”

 

“—is different, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes,” Iolo agreed, even though he knew Bastian didn’t believe him.  “I know I cannot even begin to make it up to you--,”

 

“And you know you don’t have to because I’ll still be here when you come back,” Bastian bit out, and Iolo jerked back in surprise.  “Poe was right about you.”

 

“Poe,” Iolo echoed suspiciously, eyes narrowing.  “ _Poe_ doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking--,” he broke off at the sound of a clearing throat and he looked to his side to see Jess standing there, tapping her watch meaningfully.  Iolo shook his head, shooing her away with a wave of his hand.

 

“Go, Iolo,” Bastian sighed, blinking rapidly, and Iolo couldn’t have moved if he wanted to.  “I think I always knew.  I just didn’t want to believe it.”

 

“Bas, listen to me,” Iolo begged, reaching out for the other man, who only bent his knees closer to his chest, curling himself further into the wall.  “Bas, please, you have to believe me.  I never meant to leave you holding the bag tonight.  _Never_.”

 

“And you’re here to tell me you have a car waiting and we’re going to Maryland now,” Bastian asked blandly, and all Iolo could do was frown back.  Bastian rubbed the heels of his hands roughly under his eyes before letting out a hollow little laugh.  “No, I know you’re not.  Are you going to tell me what it is this time?”

 

“I have to go to Finn’s prayer meeting,” Iolo answered promptly, and then quickly threw up his hands to block the fork tossed rather wobbly in his direction.

 

“Leave Finn out of this,” Bastian ordered, snatching back the fork as Iolo passed it back impassively.  “I can’t stop you from lying to my face for the thousandth time this month, but you’re not using _Finn_ as an excuse.”

 

“Bas, I’m not lying to you,” Iolo replied miserably, even though he knew it was useless.  “What if I promised you we’d elope?  We can go down to Maryland, no blood test needed, and--,”

 

“When, after your _prayer meeting_ ,” Bastian asked incredulously.

 

“Yes, if that’s what you want,” Iolo answered instantly, crawling further under the table.  “As soon as the prayer meeting is over, I’ll come to your apartment and--,”

 

“Forget it, Lo,” Bastian shook his head, gaze falling to his knee and missing Iolo’s trembling bottom lip.  “I’ve heard too many broken promises from you.”

 

“I know,” Iolo said softly, wetly, head dropping between his shoulders, hands squeezing into fists.  He ignored Jess’s tapping foot, mind racing uselessly for something, anything, he could offer.  “I—I never gave you my marker,” he finally mumbled.

 

“You never gave me a lot of things, Lo,” Bastian countered tiredly.

 

“I know,” Iolo repeated remorsefully, pulling out another small card from his breast pocket, embossed with his name.  A gift from the man now cowering away from him like he was some heartless monster.  Which might be fair.  “Jess, I need that pen again,” he said over his shoulder, holding out his hand and receiving a frustrated sigh and the pen in response.  “I have to go now, Bastian,” Iolo said with heavy regret, unscrewing the cap and balancing the business card on his thigh.  “And I know you don’t owe me a thing in this world,” he went on, scribbling quickly across the back of the card.  “But if you still see something, something in me that you could still—still love, then you have my word, on my honor, that I will marry you,” he finished, wafting the card through the air to dry the ink before holding it out to the other man.

 

Bastian looked between the card and Iolo’s face, and Iolo prayed that he looked as earnest as he felt. 

 

“Lo, we need to leave,” Jess hissed, and the moment broke.  Bastian turned his face away, closing his eyes and tucking his cheek against his shoulder. 

 

“I—I’ll leave this here,” Iolo choked out, placing his marker on the tile floor before inching his way out from under the table.  “I love you, Bastian.  Always have, from the second I saw you, fourteen years ago.  So sue me, but that's how it is.”

 

Bastian didn’t say anything as Iolo finally pushed himself to his feet and let Jess pull him away, out the glass door and into the waiting taxi.  Bastian idly pricked his fingertips against the prongs of the fork, taking a few deep, shaky breaths, waiting for the pressure under his eyes to ease.

 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I think I’ve spent enough time on the ground tonight.”

 

Bastian’s head snapped around, jaw dropping.  “ _Poe?_ What are you doing here?”

 

“A bit of this, a bit of that,” Poe said, not answering as he smiled, bracing his hands against his knees as he crouched down to observe the singer.  “What do you say we have a slice of Maz’s famous cheesecake and then I can walk you home?”

 

“I, uh,” Bastian blinked, not sure how to take that offer.

 

“That’s the spirit,” Poe nodded, seeming satisfied with the stammered response.  “Come on out.  I think even Maz may draw the line at serving customers on the floor.”

 

Almost in a daze, Bastian slinked his way over to the left bench, pausing only long enough to pick up the innocently-sitting card.  Poe noticed, but said nothing as Bastian crawled into his seat.  Poe straightened, nodding at the lone waiter slouched against the bar and pointing at the cheesecake in the case, holding up two fingers.  As he slid into the empty bench, Poe caught Bastian scanning the card between his fingers.  Bastian looked over, almost ruefully, before he passed over the card.  Poe pursed his lips but took the offer, quickly reading the message.

 

_One marriage X Iolo Arana_

 

“I’ll be damned,” Poe huffed with a laugh, flicking the card back to the other man.  “Might want to keep that.  Could come in handy.”

 

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Bastian mumbled mostly to himself as two plates with large, thick slices of cheesecake was deposited at their booth.

 

“Good thing you’re not a gambling man then,” Poe said mysteriously with a wink.  “Here, you need a new fork.  I’ll grab you one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's block; it's a killer. But I hope you enjoyed the new chapter! Drawing to the end now.
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who has left comments or kudos on this story. You are all absolutely unbelievable and magnificent!! :)
> 
> Song credits: 'I Believe' sung by Frank Sinatra and 'But Not For Me' sung by Ella Fitzgerald


	7. Marry the Man Today

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After far too long, this story finally has the ending it needed :)

“I must say, you have surprised me, sergeant,” General Phasma commented mildly looking over the eight suited men, seated in even rows and watching the red-clad tall woman and shorter man dubiously.  Finn stared right back at them in blatant amazement and confusion, torn between wondering _how_ they were here and _what_ to do with them.  “Well, gentleman,” the general began, sounding chipper, “who would like to begin with--,”

 

“Not midnight yet,” grunted a pinch-faced man in the back row.  He was elbowed in the ribs by a too-slick looking man with waxed blond hair and he added, “Your honor.”

 

Phasma blinked at that, and Finn barely restrained a snort, pinching his leg hard through his trousers.  Finn’ and Phasma’s gaze drifted over their shoulders at the clock on the wall behind the desk, and everyone in the room watched as the second hand approached the twelve.

 

“Hold the boat to heaven!”

 

“That’s not how it works, idiot—ow!”

 

“How would you know—you have as much chance of seeing the pearly gates as Lo has of--,”

 

“Apologies, Sergeant Finn, for being very nearly late.”

 

“What in God’s name,” Finn blurted before checking himself as Rey and Jess, dragging a tall, peeved-looking man, and Iolo rushed into the mission and took the four empty chairs in the front row.  Iolo whipped off his fedora and offered a small bow with what Finn thought was an apologetic smile before straightening and stepping forward.

 

“Compliments of Mr. Dameron, twelve genuine sinners for a prayer meeting,” Iolo announced, drawing a stack of paper and a crisp envelope from his blazer’s inside pocket.  “He asked me to deliver this with his regrets,” he added a bit more quietly, holding the papers out, and Finn accepted them somewhat dazed.

 

“Well, now that midnight is upon us,” the general said as Iolo made his way to his seat under Finn’s piercing gaze, “welcome, all of you, to the Save-a-Soul Mission.  It truly is gratifying to see so many repugnant sinners with us tonight.”  Rey and Jess began a round of applause at that, and Finn had to slap a hand over his mouth to stop from cackling at the look of utter befuddlement on the general’s face.

 

“No, hold it,” Iolo jumped to his feet, waving his hands.  “I don’t think that was a compliment.  Cut it out—Henry, we won’t have any of that nonsense tonight.  Remember, we’re answering to Poe tonight personally.  And I need hardly remind you that means _in person_.  Sorry, sergeant,” he directed to Finn as the crowd slumped back in their seats, exchanging shrugs and raised eyebrows.  “Your dice,” he offered with another gracious bow.

 

Finn, taking in Iolo’s meek expression and bowed shoulders, could almost understand what Bastian saw in the man.  Almost.  “We will begin with hearing your testimony,” he informed Iolo, who grimaced as the collective began whining in unison.

 

“Okay, okay, you heard the holy man,” Iolo snapped, crossing his arms and turning to his cronies and regulars.  “He wants to hear what bums we are.  Henry, on your feet.”

 

“I ain’t gonna be your stool pigeon,” the long-faced man in a flashy tie in the back corner croaked.

 

“You wanna bet on that,” Iolo shot back, his voice going hard as stone, and Finn goggled as Henry got to his feet with a disgruntled groan.

 

“Well, you see, your honor, I was a bad kid, once, back in the day.  But as my twelve arrests and zero convictions show…”

 

*****

 

“It was nice of you to walk me home,” Bastian mentioned, the first words he’d spoken since the pair had left Maz’s.  Poe didn’t blame him—the guy had a lot on his mind—and was a little thankful even because it meant he could keep a wary eye out for anyone that might wish harm on the young singer on his arm.  A few misguided men and women had glanced their way, but Poe’s fierce glare had them looking away and scurrying off.

 

“My pleasure,” Poe replied gracefully, and Bastian chuckled at that, ducking his head and fiddling with the ring with two keys in his hands.  “Why don’t you invite me in.”

 

The keys went still and Bastian squinted up at the other man.  “Why do you want to come in?”

 

“Well, I’ve been thinking things over and I’ve got an offer for you,” Poe answered with a shrug, one hand in his pocket, the other holding Bastian’s small suitcase.

 

Bastian’s eyes narrowed even further.  “And what kind of offer is that, Mr. Dameron,” he asked frostily.

 

“Not the kind you’re thinking,” Poe said laughingly, reaching out to pinch Bastian’s chin gently.  “Go on; it costs you nothing to listen.”

 

Bastian visibly deflated and Poe knew he had won even before the younger man slid his key into the lock and turned it with a click.  Bastian trudged into the darkened apartment, leaving the door open for Poe to follow after the singer had flicked on a small light beside a decrepit sofa.  “Make yourself comfortable,” Bastian said with mock graciousness, looking around himself at the sad state of his home that he hadn’t noticed in months, maybe years.  Peeling wallpaper, broken window blinds, thread-worn rug, and that was just the living room.  He felt suddenly self-conscious, but the apology died on his lips as Poe just flopped down on the sofa, dropping his hat on the cluttered end table without any sign that he noticed.  “Um, so—can I get you anything?”

 

“If you have any room after that cheesecake, you’re a stronger man than me,” Poe tossed out with a bright smile, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles, Bastian’s suitcase in his lap.  Bastian’s eyes fell to the object and he frowned, heart clenching.

 

“I guess I won’t be needing that tonight,” he said, pointing at the case and then moving to grab it.  Poe draped his arms across the item of luggage.

 

“Well, let’s not be too hasty about that,” Poe replied with a smile Bastian didn’t understand.

 

“Poe, it’s going to take a bit more than Lo’s signature on a piece of paper to convince me he might marry me this time around.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” Poe nodded with satisfaction.  “It’s about time you stood up to him.  Do you agree?”

 

“I—I guess so,” Bastian stammered, blinking at the oddly cat-like smile curling across the other man’s lips.  “But there is a lot of good in him, you know.  I know you don’t believe it, but he does love me, and he’s proven that, even if he--,”

 

“I might believe it,” Poe allowed with a light shrug.  “But that doesn’t mean he isn’t stringing you along.”

 

Bastian swallowed back the lump in his throat, his shoulders drooping in defeat as he dragged himself over to the small, deflated armchair to Poe’s left.  “You’re not wrong,” he allowed, voice tight with emotion.

 

“Don’t go leaking on me,” Poe warned, eyeing Bastian’s glossy eyes.  The singer snorted and pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, dabbing at the corners of his eyes quickly and efficiently before offering a small smile to the man watching him.  “That’s better.  You ready to hear my offer or should I give you another minute?”

 

“This offer sounds a bit funny, if I’m being straight with you,” Bastian stated, and Poe winked.

 

“I already told you, I’m not working that angle.”

 

“Well, what is it then?”

 

“I want you to run away with me tonight.”

 

Bastian rolled his eyes and slumped back in his chair.  “If you’re not going to be serious--,”

 

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Poe interrupted, placing the suitcase on the floor and sliding across the couch in one motion.  Bastian leaned away from the earnest man, suddenly a bit too close to him, and Poe took one of Bastian’s hands in his.  “I’ve got to get outta town tonight, and I think you should come with me.”

 

“I can’t _leave_ ,” Bastian stated incredulously.  “I—I’ve got a job and-and bills and a fiancé I’ve got to decide what to do with!”

 

“A job you hate, bills I’ll take care of, and a fiancé who needs to learn he can’t take you for granted,” Poe countered, giving the thin hand in his a squeeze.  “Trust me, I’ll make sure your-friend who does God’s work is provided for.”

 

“B-but Iolo--,”

 

“Bastian, please, do me a favor,” Poe beseeched, cupping the younger man’s chin in his palm.  “Do not start your next sentence with ‘but Iolo.’”

 

*****

 

“—and Mother was never around, always had somewhere more important to be or someone more important to see--,”

 

“Why’d you ask him,” Rey hissed over to Iolo, who was turned sideways in his seat, one arm crooked over the back of the chair, as Ren continued his autobiography to an overly fascinated General Phasma.

 

“Thought it might be a laugh,” Iolo drawled back, checking the time on the clock above the general’s head, seeing the seconds tick away like his chances of ever convincing Bastian to give him another chance.

 

“—and don’t get me started on my good-for-nothing father--,”

 

“Please.  Don’t,” Jess agreed loudly, only to be shushed by the tall, stern blonde woman before her focus shifted back to Ren.

 

“Psst!”

 

“No, Henry,” Iolo sighed, not looking up from the pleat in his trouser leg that he was straightening, “no one’s leaving til the prayer meeting is concluded.”

 

“Arana.”  Iolo’s head jerked up, blinking at Finn standing over him, envelope and a page of paper in his hands.  “Did you read this?”

 

Iolo rolled his eyes and Jess scoffed next to him.  “Finn, I’m a small-time lout, not an out-and-outer.  I don’t read other people’s mail.”

 

“I don’t know what that means,” Finn retorted primly before trusting the letter at Iolo.  “Read it and tell me if it’s true.”

 

Iolo rubbed his fists against his tired, dry eyes before taking the page and holding it close to squint at the jagged handwriting.

 

_Finn,_

_If you’re reading this, then I have made my marker and I can at least have a clean conscience about that.  I’m sorry I can’t keep that other promise, but at this point I don’t think you ever want to see me again, so we’ll call it a wash._

_I know you won’t believe it, but that night in Havana was probably the best of my life.  I guess I know how a gambler can give up the game now.  As it is, I’ve got a few more gambles in me, and I hope you’ll forgive me for them._

 

“Hold on,” Iolo said, interrupting Ren mid-sentence.  The no-good crook and the general of God both shot him reprimanding glares, and Iolo shot them his most charming smile. 

 

“As I was _saying_ , my father never understood…”

 

“Dameron told me you never went to Havana,” Iolo went on in a whisper as Ren continued.

 

Finn blinked.  “He did?  But the bet…?”

 

“He told you about the—well, that’s just dandy,” Iolo grumbled to himself before shaking his head in dismissal.  “He gave me the grand, saying he lost the damn bet.  Fat lot of good it does me now--,”

 

“Poe—he, oh no,” Finn hissed, eyes going wide.  He glanced over to make sure Phasma was paying him no mind.  She wasn’t, and he dropped to kneel next to Iolo’s seat, the blonde sinner looking perturbed by the action.  “Tell me the truth, Arana: did Poe know that you were going to use the mission for your gambling hell?”

 

“No, I did not think of it until I thought he had you on a plane to Cuba,” Iolo replied, keeping his voice low.  “Did he really forfeit a bet?  Poe Dameron has never forfeited in his life and--,”

 

“He didn’t know,” Finn breathed, snatching the letter back and quickly rereading the letter with the new information in mind.  Iolo, not for the first time thankful he could read upside down, craned his neck until his forehead was brushing Finn’s.

 

_First, the twelve sinners you’ve got were won with a roll of the dice.  I’m not ashamed of it, and frankly I think you might appreciate the irony._

_Second, I’m leaving town.  That won’t be a surprise, in fact I think you expect nothing less from me at this point.  Cutting my losses and running scared, right?  Well, you only have yourself to thank for that.  You were talking about your dreams and all that night, and it got me thinking.  Maybe an honest profession wouldn’t be too bad.  But I can’t do that in New York; too many familiar faces, one of which I don’t know if I can see right now._

_Thinking of your dream, I don’t know if it means much coming from me, but I think you need to go for it.  That mission of yours is worthy, but it’s not your mission, and I think you know that.  I’ll leave a little something to help you get started.  I owe it to you anyway._

_You might need to find a new songbird though.  Don’t worry; I promise to take care of Bastian._

_Fondly,_

_P._ _Dameron_

“What does he mean he’ll _take care of Bastian_ ,” Iolo demanded, wide eyes meeting Finn’s own scared ones.

 

“He’s going to run away with him,” Finn gaped, and Iolo’s top lip curled in disgust.

 

“Why in the ever-loving world would he do that?  What would have put that thought in his head—oh my God,” Iolo gasped, hand covering his mouth.

 

“What?  Arana, tell me,” Finn growled, not caring at the mildly alarmed look sent his way from Jess.

 

“This—he—his retribution for the bet,” Iolo groaned, squeezing his eyes shut in defeat.  “He’s hitting me in the only place that will hurt anymore.”

 

“I told him I wanted to take care of Bas,” Finn said, not sure why he was divulging the tidbit except that he’d never seen the blonde man look broken before.  “I—Poe knows I wanted to get Bas out of that awful job of his and…and he thinks he’s helping.”

 

“He’s doing more for my fiancé than I have in years,” Iolo murmured from behind his hand, and Finn watched in shock as a single tear worked its way out of the corner of Iolo’s tightly closed eyes. 

 

“And what are you going to do about it,” Finn heard his voice ask, and was sure he looked just as surprised as Iolo did as the rogue’s eyes popped open, tears waiting to rush if given the chance.  The two men stared at each other for a long moment, and then Finn cleared his throat.  “Well?  Are you going to help me stop this, or aren’t you?”

 

Iolo was frozen for another too-long beat and then he inclined his head once with a jerk.  “I’m with you.”  Finn nodded back firmly, getting to his feet, pausing only when Iolo’s hand grabbed his wrist.  “I gave my marker.  I’m here until the meeting is done.  I don’t have much, but my marker is still stainless.”

 

“Marker?  This,” Finn asked, pulling out the crumbled pages from his pants pocket.  He flipped through, dropping the ones he didn’t need on the floor until he found Iolo’s messy signature.  Looking the blonde straight in the eye, Finn ripped the sheet of paper in half and let them float down.  “Any other excuses you want to try?”

 

“Not anymore,” Iolo grinned, jumping to his feet.  “We need to--,”

 

“Well, well, well.”

 

“So close,” Iolo winced sincerely as Lieutenant Hux strolled into the Save-a-Soul Mission, casually swinging a pair of handcuffs around his pointer finger.

 

“Returning to the scene of the crime now, are you?  That seems pretty dumb, Arana, even for you,” Hux went on smugly.

 

“Crime?  Sergeant, what is this man talking about,” General Phasma asked, frowning.

 

“Sergeant Finn, you told me you would be able to identify the miscreants who were partaking in an illegal craps game in this very mission last night,” Hux announced, his victorious sneer growing as the seated collection of rogues ducked their heads instinctively.  “I ask you now, are these the people you saw this morning, fleeing the scene?”

 

Finn saw Iolo hold out his arms, wrists together in anticipation, and rolled his shoulders back.  “Lieutenant Hux, I have never seen these people before in my life.”

 

“ _What_ ,” Hux, Iolo, and Rey blurted out.

 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Finn continued, turning to grab his hat from the corner of the desk, “I need to catch my roommate before he steals my man.  Come on, Arana,” he tossed over his shoulder as he marched out of the mission’s door, for the last time if he had anything to say about it.

 

Hux’s jaw hung limp, and Iolo couldn’t resist clapping the policeman on the shoulder as he passed.  “Them’s the breaks,” Iolo laughed and jogged to catch up with Finn, who was making a good effort to hail a cab at one in the morning.  “Finn, for that alone I--,”

 

“Oh, be quiet.  I’m not the one you need to grovel to,” Finn dismissed easily, groaning as another yellow cab sped past him.  “Got any tips on getting a cab?”

 

“Just one,” Iolo replied, judging the distance and stepping off the curb into the oncoming traffic.  Finn shouted, turning away and grimacing at the loud screeching of rubber on pavement.  He braced himself for the inevitable and felt his heart stop when instead he heard Iolo cheerfully call, “One cab, as requested.  Hope you have some cash.”

 

*****

 

“I think that’s the last of it,” Bastian sighed as he helped Poe load the last suitcase into a red car that had appeared after Poe had made a phone call from the booth on the corner.  Poe nodded, slamming the truck shut and shooting an apologetic grimace as Bastian flinched at the sound.

 

“It’s not too late, you know.  If you need more time--,”

 

“I think if I think about it anymore I’ll drive myself insane,” Bastian stated flatly, crossing his arms against the cool breeze that raced down the street.  “But…it will work out, won’t it?”

 

“Call me an optimist, but I think it will,” Poe replied with a shrug, leaning his hip against the car.  “All that’s left is--,”

 

“Wait!  Don’t--,”

 

“Bas, please, just,” and Bastian was spun around, his shoulders grabbed and shaken roughly, Iolo’s expression desperate.  “Please listen to me.  If you want to run away with some no-good hooligan--,”

 

“Hey,” Poe tossed in offended before Finn smacked him upside his head with a peeved look.

 

“—then run away with me!  At least I love you,” Iolo finished in a rush.

 

“And you, mister,” Finn started but Poe held up his hand, his focus on the blonde and the singer in his arms.

 

“Hold that thought,” Poe said softly with an odd small smile on his face.  “I need to hear this.”

 

“I know there’s nothing I can say anymore, I know you can’t believe a word that comes out of my mouth,” Iolo went on, not noticing his audience as his eyes rapidly scanned Bastian’s face as if he might never see it again.  “But I swear I fell in love with you the second I saw you, when you were just a scrawny kid hiding from your screaming parents behind the dumpster.  Remember that?  I ducked there to hide from some cop who thought he caught me pickpocketing, and you were there, looking so tiny and-and fragile.”

 

“Lo,” Bas breathed, his hands rising to hold Iolo’s smooth cheeks between his palms.

 

“And you told me you wouldn’t let them catch me.  You were such a little guy and scared to death, but you said you’d protect me.  And I believed you,” Iolo said, pausing to gulp around the lump in his throat, “because I could tell you could do anything you put your mind to.  Do you remember that?”

 

Bastian sniffed none too delicately and nodded.  “And you—you said you’d take care of me.  You wouldn’t let th-them hurt me ever again.”

 

“At least I kept that promise to you,” Iolo murmured, running his hands from the singer’s shoulders to his waist.  “At least I have one thing to be proud of in these fourteen years.”

 

“Fourteen years,” Bastian repeated wetly, bowing his head.  Iolo hummed soothingly, leaning forward enough to rest his lips against the crown of Bastian’s head.

 

“I’ve been terrible and you’ve-you’ve taken it, for fourteen years.  God, _why_?”

 

“You know why.  Everyone knows why,” Bastian choked out, swaying forward and resting his weight against his fiancé. 

 

“I didn’t deserve it,” Iolo replied matter-of-factly, pushing down the ache that was creeping up from his stomach, his heart.  “You were right, when you said I knew you would wait for me.  I-I guess I’m not used to winning…and I didn’t know what to do when I got lucky for the first time in my life.  When you fell in love with me.”  Bastian let out a soft huff of laughter. 

 

“I wanted to be your last bet,” Bastian whispered brokenly.

 

Poe was so entranced he jumped a little when a hand slipped into his.  He glanced over to Finn questioningly, and found the man in smiling softly back at him.

 

“I want that, Bas, so badly it hurts,” Iolo answered, urging the younger man to look up with his nose.  As if it weighed a hundred pounds, Bastian slowly looked up, his eyes rimmed red and puffy.  “Show me how?”

 

Bastian swallowed drily, and his gaze shifted over Iolo’s shoulder to Poe, beseechingly.  Poe nodded understandingly and gave Finn’s hand a squeeze.

 

“First you need to get out of here,” Poe stated, smile growing as Iolo’s head snapped in his direction.  “You can’t get a fresh start in New York.”

 

“I—I can do that,” Iolo allowed, looking back at Bastian with a small hint of hope.  “I can pack my bags now and—I will need some time but, but please don’t leave with Dameron.”

 

“He wasn’t,” Poe supplied as Bastian let out a little giggle and buried his face in the blonde’s shoulder while Iolo stared incredulously.  “And your bags are packed and ready to go.  With Bastian’s,” he added, banging his fist against the lid of the trunk.  “No excuses this time, Arana.”

 

“Wait, you—you weren’t,” Iolo broke off and thrust his fiancé to arm’s length by his hold on the singer’s hipbones, bending his knees to marvel at Bastian’s giggling face.  “You bluffed me.”

 

“I bluffed you,” Bastian agreed cheerfully.  “But I meant everything I said, I promise you.”

 

“I don’t care about that, where were these skills when I needed to get bailed out of the pig pen last year?!”

 

“Arana,” Finn ground out, the blonde looking over, “priorities.”

 

“Huh?  Oh!  Sure, I—I guess we’re going,” Iolo marveled, looking around himself.  “I thought I would feel—sadder.”

 

“Finn,” Bastian began with a contrite face, but Poe interrupted.

 

“No need for the sobbing farewells.  I’ve never been to a wedding, but I think there needs to be a witness,” he said.

 

“Two witnesses, actually,” Finn corrected, tugging Poe into his side with a surprising amount of force.  “And I think it’s at least four hours to the border.”

 

“What border,” Iolo asked.

 

“Maryland, you idiot,” Bastian scolded fondly.

 

“Of course.  How stupid of me,” Iolo appeased, planting a tender kiss to the singer’s cheek.

 

“Which gives us plenty time to discuss what the hell was going through your mind when you thought you were going to take Bas and leave with nothing more than a note,” Finn said sternly, moving to stand in front of Poe as the affianced couple melted together.

 

“It was one of many plans,” Poe replied mildly.

 

“Which plan?”

 

“Plan—D.”

 

“Try again,” Finn challenged, and Poe heaved a deep sigh.

 

“Alright, hot shot, it was Plan A, but in my defense,” he rushed on as Finn drew himself up indignantly, “I really thought Iolo needed to learn a lesson and I was going to leave you ten grand in your apartment to tide you over until he was ready to come back.”

 

“Sweet and slightly insulting though that is,” Finn admitted, “I’d rather have you tell me to my face that you were running scared than some letter.  Or cash.”

 

“Should I keep that in mind for the next time,” Poe asked, cocking an eyebrow.

 

“As if you’re getting another chance to run.  You stuck with me now,” Finn declared with no room for argument, “and you can bet on that.”

 

“Alright, are you two done or what,” Iolo called over as he held open the passenger door for Bastian to duck into.  “We’ve got an elopement that’s about fourteen years too late.”

 

“If you let me drive, I can get us there in three hours, tops,” Poe offered, reaching up to tweak Finn’s nose playfully before pulling away.

 

“I’m not having you kill us now that I’m this close to an honest life,” Iolo shot back as he closed the door and moved around to the driver’s side.

 

“Besides,” Bastian said, popping his head through the window, “I think it ruins the romance if we get driven to our shotgun wedding.”

 

“Your choice,” Poe shrugged as Finn climbed into the backseat through the driver’s door.  “Don’t blame me if he makes a wrong turn and we end up at Belmont racetrack.”

 

“Lo!”

 

“I swear I won’t,” Iolo replied hastily, eyes wide.  “Better hold on to my money a bit longer, just to be safe,” he muttered as Poe slid by him into the car.

 

“I’m not an idiot.  You’re not seeing your wallet until that marriage license is signed.”

 

“Thank you, Poe,” Bastian chimed.  “I like him,” he told Iolo confidentially as his fiancé took his seat and slammed the car door shut behind him.

 

“He’s impossible,” Iolo grumbled, adjusting the rearview mirror and catching sight of Finn and Poe talking with their lips nearly touching.  “What are your thoughts on double weddings, scout?”

 

“I’m not opposed to them in principle.  Why?”

 

“Just a thought,” Iolo said evasively, starting the car and gunning the accelerator, the two responding shouts of annoyance and surprise from the backseat causing him to smile satisfied.

 

“Lo?”

 

“Yes, light of my life?”

 

“We’re doing this?”

 

Iolo took the corner smoothly.  “We’re doing this and you can’t stop me.”    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to every single one of you who left a comment or kudos or just stopped by and read this story. I am in awe and all of you are spectacular.  
> I hope you enjoy the ending, even though it was a little bit (read: extremely) delayed. I wanted to do it right and sometimes that takes a while. But they made it!

**Author's Note:**

> And thus the stage is set!
> 
> Comments and kudos are welcomed and cherished. I aim to respond to every comment. Updates...will happen. I try to have weekly updates, but if not stick with me. I won't leave stories unfinished!


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